


Light and Steel

by Ahab2631



Series: Grisha Remix [1]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: "I Am Not A Weakness", Alina Grew Up Using Her Powers In Secret, Alina Has A Sneaky Secret Fact-Finding Conversation With The Darkling, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because adult Alina, Beta Hero, Botkin Is Amazing, But If I Do You Should Come With Me, Can We Find The Inside of Ivan's Crunchy Shell?, Character Expansion, Characters are older, Exposition, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, IS There An Inside To Ivan's Crunchy Shell?, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, MAYBE Graphic Violence but I'm pretty sure not, Mal Still Starts Out As A Manwhore, Minor Original Character(s), NO Baghra I'm Not Going To Just Run Away, New sun-bending skills, Predictably she has a temper, Seriously Every Spoiler, Seriously so sloooooooow, Slow Burn, Snarky Alina (Nikolai is going to love her), Someone tell me if I'm wrong, Spoilers, Strong Female Characters, The Darkling Thinks Alina is Gay, The King Hits On Alina, The Mal Argument After The Fete Goes Better This Time, There are swears, Worldbuilding, shadow and bone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 125,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahab2631/pseuds/Ahab2631
Summary: An eight year-old orphan in the nation of Ravka discovers she can do something... unusual. A full AU rewrite of Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo.  Mostly world-building, exposition, and character expansion, with a new scene thrown in now and again and an Alina whose character sprouts from an alternate childhood.  It's a personal project to see if the ending of the trilogy could be changed, had a few key things gone differently along the way, and to "correct" things that frustrated me in a series I adored.  Intended overall as a fix-it.  Part II done; Part III nearing the end. Ish.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: First fanfic
> 
> Respectful corrections and critiques wholeheartedly welcome. And for god's sake if there's something cringe-worthy...don't let me be "that author," friends.
> 
> Mega credit up front to [Ignitesthestars,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars) who I'm convinced is Leigh Bardugo in Disguise, and in particular her Grisha fic [Good Morning Midnight,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1935132/chapters/4179585) which explores what might have happened if Alina had been discovered by the examiners as a child. She's the reason I gathered the stones to start writing this thing, and I borrowed heavily from her Alina's mad sun-bending skills.
> 
> Basically, read this if you've been wanting to re-read the trilogy but don't want to have to go through the parts that frustrated you again. That is literally the whole reason I am doing this.
> 
> I should note that I'm an obsessive editor; I'll change things regularly, but will put a note in the chapter if it's more than a word or some phrasing.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> An AU in which Alina grows up healthy, beautiful, and with the use of her powers, which she and Mal find every conceivable way to exploit. In short: still sassy and dry, but without the crippling inferiority complex. She's also older at the start of the story: 24 or 25, but feel free to make her whatever age you want in your head. I just couldn't live vicariously through a 17 year-old, and wanted her to be a little less, well, young.
> 
> This is Darklina/Alarkling, but it's going to be a slooooow burn.
> 
> Decided to post this because I know there are people out there who shared my frustrations with the stories. This is almost entirely Bardugo's book, word for word - except for changes, tweaks, and some new scenes. Ideally, my style and characterization will be so spot-on that you won't notice where her work stops and mine starts, but I'm not a ghostwriter, so we'll see. As the story goes on, small changes will snowball and there will be much more original content. By the end of book three, we should be completely off the rails, which scares the crap out of me as the writer, but there you go. Each book will be posted as a separate story here on Ao3.
> 
> I won't be italicizing the "Russian," because why.

**BEFORE**

 

The servants called them malenchki, little ghosts, because they were the smallest and the youngest, and because they haunted the Duke’s house like giggling phantoms, darting in and out of rooms, hiding in cupboards to eavesdrop, sneaking into the kitchen to steal the last of the summer peaches.

The boy and the girl had arrived within weeks of each other, two more orphans of the border wars, dirty-faced refugees plucked from the rubble of distant towns and brought to the Duke’s estate to learn to read and write, and to learn a trade. The boy was short and stocky, shy but always smiling. The girl was different, and she knew it.

Huddled in the kitchen cupboard, listening to the grownups gossip, she heard the Duke’s housekeeper, Ana Kuya, say, “She’s an ugly little thing. No child should look like that. Pale and sour, like a glass of milk that’s turned.”

“And so skinny!” the cook replied. “Never finishes her supper.”

Crouched beside the girl, the boy turned to her and whispered, “Why _don’t_ you eat?”

“Because everything she cooks tastes like mud.”

“Tastes fine to me.”

“You’ll eat anything.”

They bent their ears back to the crack in the cupboard doors.

A moment later the boy whispered, “I don’t think you’re ugly.”

“Shhhh!” the girl hissed. But hidden by the deep shadows of the cupboard, she smiled.

 

* * * * *

 

In the summer, they endured long hours of chores followed by even longer hours of lessons in stifling classrooms. When the heat was at its worst, they escaped into the woods to hunt for birds’ nests or swim in the muddy little creek, or they would lie for hours in their meadow, watching the sun pass slowly overhead, speculating on where they would build their dairy farm and whether they would have two white cows or three. In the winter, the Duke left for his city house in Os Alta, and as the days grew shorter and colder, the teachers grew lax in their duties, preferring to sit by the fire and play cards or drink kvas. Bored and trapped indoors, the older children doled out more frequent beatings. So the boy and the girl hid in the disused rooms of the estate, putting on plays for the mice and trying to keep warm.

On the day the Grisha Examiners came, the boy and the girl were perched in the window seat of a dusty upstairs bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mail coach. Instead, they saw a sleigh, a troika pulled by three black horses, pass through the white stone gates onto the estate. They watched its silent progress through the snow to the Duke’s front door.

Three figures emerged in elegant fur hats and heavy wool kefta: one in crimson, one in darkest blue, and one in vibrant dark purple.

“Grisha!” the girl whispered.

“Quick!” said the boy.

In an instant, they had shaken off their shoes and were running silently down the hall, slipping through the empty music room and darting behind a column in the gallery that overlooked the sitting room where Ana Kuya liked to receive guests.

Ana Kuya was already there, birdlike in her black dress, pouring tea from the samovar, her large key ring jangling at her waist.

“There are just the two this year, then?” said a woman’s low voice.

They peered through the railing of the balcony to the room below. Two of the Grisha sat by the fire: a handsome man in blue and a woman in red robes with a haughty, refined air. The third, a young blond man, ambled about the room, stretching his legs.

“Yes,” said Ana Kuya. “A boy and a girl, the youngest here by quite a bit. Both around eight, we think.”

“You think?” asked the man in blue.

“When the parents are deceased. . .”

“We understand,” said the woman. “We are, of course, great admirers of your institution. We only wish more of the nobility took an interest in the common people.”

“Our Duke is a very great man,” said Ana Kuya.

Up in the balcony, the boy and the girl nodded sagely to each other. Their benefactor, Duke Keramsov, was a celebrated war hero and a friend to the people. When he had returned from the front lines, he converted his estate into an orphanage and a home for war widows. They were told to keep him nightly in their prayers.

“And what are they like, these children?” asked the woman.

“The girl has some talent for drawing. The boy is most at home in the meadow and the wood.”

“But what are they _like?”_ repeated the woman.  
Ana Kuya pursed her withered lips. “What are they like? They are undisciplined, contrary, far too attached to each other. They—”

“They are listening to every word we say,” said the young man in purple.

The boy and the girl jumped in surprise. He was staring directly at their hiding spot. They shrank behind the column, but it was too late.

Ana Kuya’s voice lashed out like a whip. “Alina Starkov! Malyen Oretsev! Come down here at once!”

Reluctantly, Alina and Mal made their way down the narrow spiral staircase at the end of the gallery. When they reached the bottom, the woman in red rose from her chair and gestured them forward.

“Do you know who we are?” the woman asked. Her hair was steel gray. Her face lined, but beautiful.

“You’re witches!” blurted Mal.

“Witches?” she snarled. She whirled on Ana Kuya. “Is that what you teach at this school? Superstition and lies?”

Ana Kuya flushed with embarrassment. The woman in red turned back to Mal and Alina, her dark eyes blazing. “We are not witches. We are practitioners of the Small Science. We keep this country and this kingdom safe.”

“As does the First Army,” Ana Kuya said quietly, an unmistakable edge to her voice.

The woman in red stiffened, but after a moment she conceded, “As does the King’s Army.”

The young man in purple smiled and knelt before the children. He said gently, “When the leaves change color, do you call it magic? What about when you cut your hand and it heals? And when you put a pot of water on the stove and it boils, is it magic then?”

Mal shook his head, his eyes wide.

But Alina frowned and said, “Anyone can boil water.”

Ana Kuya sighed in exasperation, but the woman in red laughed.

“You’re very right. Anyone can boil water. But not just anyone can master the Small Science. That’s why we’ve come to test you.” She turned to Ana Kuya. “Leave us now.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Mal. “What happens if we’re Grisha? What happens to us?”

The woman in red looked down at them. “If, by some small chance, one of you is Grisha, then that lucky child will go to a special school where Grisha learn to use their talents.”

“You will have the finest clothes, the finest food, whatever your heart desires,” said the man in purple. “Would you like that?”

“It is the greatest way that you may serve your King,” said Ana Kuya, still hovering by the door.

“That is very true,” said the woman in red, pleased and willing to make peace.

The boy and the girl glanced at each other and, because the adults were not paying close attention, they did not see the girl reach out to clasp the boy’s hand or the look that passed between them. The Duke would have recognized that look. He had spent long years on the ravaged northern borders, where the villages were constantly under siege and the peasants fought their battles with little aid from the King or anyone else. He had seen a woman, barefoot and unflinching in her doorway, face down a row of bayonets. He knew the look of a man defending his home with nothing but a rock in his hand.

 

* * * * * 

 

Long after the examiners left, unsatisfied but unsurprised that neither child had exhibited a talent of the Small Science, the girl lead the boy to their meadow. Once they were alone, she turned to him, eyes bright, and whispered, “Look! Look what I can do now!” She squinted down at her hand, and as the boy watched, sunlight gathered around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom spoilers in the comments on this work, please, for those of us who haven't read them yet.


	2. It's Always Just Us

Standing on the edge of a crowded dirt road, I looked down onto the rolling fields and abandoned farms of the Tula Valley and got a glimpse of the Shadow Fold. My regiment was two weeks’ march from the military encampment at Poliznaya and the autumn sun was warm overhead, but I shivered in my coat as I eyed the haze that lay like a dirty smudge on the horizon.

A heavy shoulder slammed into me from behind. I stumbled and nearly pitched face-first into the muddy road.

“Hey!” shouted the soldier. “Watch yourself!”

“Why don’t you watch your fat feet, you ass?” I snapped, and took no small amount of satisfaction from the surprise that came over his broad face. People, particularly big, cranky men carrying big rifles, didn’t expect a face like mine anywhere near the military. They also didn't expect a personality like mine under that face. They always looked a bit dazed when they discovered either.

The soldier erased his shocked expression quickly, turned away to hide the crimson color spreading over his skin with a mumbled apology, and adjusted the pack on his back, then disappeared into the caravan of horses, men, carts, and wagons streaming over the crest of the hill and into the valley below.

I quickened my steps, trying to peer over the crowd. I’d lost sight of the yellow flag of the surveyors’ cart hours ago, and I knew I was far behind, which meant I had a very unpleasant conversation waiting for me when I finally reached camp.

As I walked, I took in the green and gold smells of the autumn wood, the soft breeze at my back. We were on the Vy, the wide road that had once led all the way from Os Alta to the wealthy port cities on Ravka’s western coast. But that was before the Shadow Fold.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone was singing. _Singing? What idiot is singing on his way into the Fold? Has someone gone delirious from fear?_ I glanced again at that smudge on the horizon and had to suppress a shudder. I’d seen the Shadow Fold once every year since my first trip into it at the age of seventeen. Almost all soldiers took their first trip at seventeen, one year after conscription, but it got no easier to face with repeated trips. Before then, I'd only seen it on maps, a massive black slash that had severed Ravka from its only coastline and left it landlocked. Sometimes it was shown as a stain, sometimes as a bleak and shapeless cloud, sometimes a sharp and jagged scar. And then there were the maps that just showed the Shadow Fold as a long, narrow lake and labeled it by its other name, “the Unsea,” a name intended to put soldiers and merchants at their ease and encourage crossings. I'd snorted when I'd seen that on a map for the first time. It might have fooled some fat merchant, but it had been no comfort to me.

I tore my attention from the ominous haze hovering in the distance and looked down onto the ruined farms of the Tula. The valley had once been home to some of Ravka’s richest estates. One day it was a place where farmers tended crops and sheep grazed in green fields. The next, a dark slash had appeared on the landscape, a swath of nearly impenetrable darkness that grew with every passing year and crawled with horrors. Where the farmers had gone, their herds, their crops, their homes and families, no one knew. The Fold didn't leave bodies or bones.

_Stop it,_ I told myself firmly. _You’re only making it worse. You've been crossing the Fold for years. . . usually with massive casualties, but all the same._ I took a deep breath to steady myself. To say that no one liked the Fold would be an understatement, but every year, I couldn't help feeling that I sensed some danger from it other than probable death. It felt unnatural, like I didn't belong there. Like none of us did.

“No fainting in the middle of the road,” said a voice close to my ear as a heavy arm landed across my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I looked up to see Mal’s familiar face, a smile in his bright blue eyes as he fell into step beside me. “C’mon,” he said. “One foot in front of the other. You know how it’s done.”

"Do I look like I'm having trouble walking, _First Lieutenant?"_

Mal beamed. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that."

I hummed. "Keep on saying it every chance you get and I'll have it carved into your chest while you sleep."

"You're so bloodthirsty. It's a good thing you're pretty."

"I could say the same about you."

"I'm hardly bloodthirsty."

"No, you're just an insufferable idiot," I replied with a sickly sweet smile. "Now either go away or join in. You're interfering with my plan.”

“Saints," he laughed. "Again? What will it be this year? Another dying relative? A severe and spontaneous case of advanced pneumonia?”

“Amateur," I scoffed. "I intend to faint at an opportune moment and get trampled. Grievous injuries all around. I can hardly go into the Shadow Fold with a broken leg, right?”

“That sounds like a brilliant plan. Maybe a little extreme, though, if you're open to constructive feedback.”

“I thought I was the pessimistic one? Besides, drastic times and all. After this many years it's almost a point of pride to find at least _one_ plan that will work. It's not like orphans or people who were perfectly healthy a matter of hours ago can't get horribly maimed. And this year, I have a newly promoted officer to vouch for me.”

Mal nodded slowly. “I see. I'd say I could shove you under a cart if that would help, but I know you wouldn't leave me to cross the Fold all alone.”

I snorted. "Like your fan club wouldn't fall all over themselves to keep you company."

"You talk like you don't have one," he grinned and bumped into my side.

"No, but the difference is I don't _want_ mine. And frankly I don't understand how I still have one with as many overzealous enlisted personnel as I've punched in the face."

"Oh don't sell yourself short, Alina. You're very egalitarian when it comes to choosing body parts to shatter or puncture. I hear Sokolov's testicle retrieval operation went well, by the way."

"Hm, my apologies to future generations."

I was as sullen and overcast as I always was as we neared the Fold, but I felt my mood lifting all the same. Despite my best efforts, Mal still had that effect on me, and probably always would. I wasn’t the only one. A pretty blond girl strolled by and waved, throwing Mal a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. I had to look carefully away so I wouldn't glare at her.

“Hey, Ruby,” he called. “See you later?”

Ruby giggled and scampered off into the crowd. Mal grinned broadly until he heard my disgusted noise and caught my look of disdain.

“What? I thought you liked Ruby.”

“We didn't have much to talk about, as it happened. You know, like every other woman or girl who has come within a hundred feet of you and then learned I was your friend. I don't expect you to understand, people actually like being around you. Me? I must have 'free ticket to getting an in with Mal Oretsev' tattooed on my forehead in some ink that requires an overabundance of estrogen and the ability to giggle like an idiot to make out."

He shrugged. "They just don't know you like I do. Besides, you have friends. What about that Alexei kid? I've seen you with him a lot lately."

"Alexei who is almost ten years younger than me, Alexei? Alexei who is one of my apprentices and literally _has_ to follow me around, Alexei?" I shrugged back, trying to ignore the way his arm on my shoulder was starting to make me feel restless. "I do fine, Mal. You know that. I'll never be a social butterfly like you are, but I manage to find someone to spend time with once a year or so who doesn't either want to get into your pants or mine. And hasn't heard any of the especially frightening rumors about me." I grinned over at him despite myself.

I watched him stretch his arms expansively and turn his face up to the autumn sky, looking perfectly content, simultaneously trying to ignore the relief and sense of loss I felt as he removed his arm. There was even, I noted with some disgust, a little bounce in his step.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked in a disgusted voice.

“Nothing,” he said, surprised. “I feel great.”

“Yeah, I see that. How can you be so. . . so jaunty?”

“Jaunty? I’ve never been jaunty. I hope never to _be_ jaunty.”

“Well I'm sorry to break it to you, but you can erase that life goal right now. You look like you’re on your way to a really good dinner instead of possible, nay, probable at this point, death and dismemberment. We have one of the longest clean records, you know.”

Mal laughed. “I know. How could I not with as often as you remind me? Every year it's the same story about how high the odds are stacking against us. You worry too much. The King’s sent a whole group of Grisha pyros to cover the skiffs, and even a few of those Heartrenders. We have our rifles,” he said, patting the one on his back. “This is better security than we've had in years. We’ll be fine.”

I bit my tongue. Rifles and Grisha would make no difference if there was a bad attack.

Mal gave me a bemused glance. “What’s with you lately? You’re even grumpier than usual. And you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I groused. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

He was used to the routine; I got like this every year as the trip through the Fold drew nearer. “Anything I can do?” he asked.

I had to choke back my honest answer and just shook my head, purposely spilling hair into my face to hide my saintsforsaken blush.

Mal tucked it behind my ear, and I couldn't help the reflexive little jerk I gave at the contact.

Saints knew any sane person had plenty of good reasons to dread going into the Fold, reasons shared by every member of our regiment who had been unlucky enough to be chosen for the crossing, both veterans and new recruits. But there was something else, the deeper feeling of unease that I couldn’t quite name, but felt every year.

I glanced at Mal and shrugged. "I wish there was," I lied. "It's just the same as it always is."

"No one likes going in, Alina," he said softly.

"I know," I replied, suddenly feeling overexposed. "But you know how I am. I just. . . get these feelings. No one likes the crossings, but no one else feels like this about them either. You know that."

"I always just figured it was your. . . you know. Leanings."

I nodded. "Me, too. Doesn't change the fact that the closer we get, the more I want to find a way to scratch my skin off. I don't belong in there. No one does."

“Stop worrying so much. Maybe they’ll put Mikhael on our skiff. The volcra will take one look at that big juicy belly of his and leave us alone.”

I laughed, but unbidden, a memory came to me: _Mal and I, sitting side by side in a chair in the Duke’s library, flipping through the pages of a large leather-bound book. We’d happened on an illustration of a volcra: long, filthy claws; leathery wings; and rows of razor-sharp teeth for feasting on human flesh. They were blind from generations spent living and hunting in the Fold, but legend had it they could smell human blood from miles away. I’d pointed to the page and asked, “What is it holding?”_

I could still hear Mal’s whisper in my ear. _“I think—I think it’s a foot.” We’d slammed the book shut and run squealing out into the safety of the sunlight. . . ._

Without realizing it, I’d stopped walking, frozen in place, unable to shake the memory from my mind. It felt worse this year, the trepidation, the resistance. When Mal realized I wasn’t with him, he gave a beleaguered sigh and walked back to me. He rested his hands on my shoulders and gave them a little squeeze.

“I was kidding. No one’s going to eat Mikhael.”

“I know,” I said, staring down at my boots. “I was just. . . overwhelmed by your hilarity.”

“Alina, come on. Don't we always keep each other safe? We’ll be fine.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Look at me.” He waited until I finally raised my eyes to his. “I know you’re scared. I am, too. I also know that I don't feel quite the same way about it as you do, that it's more hard for you than it is for most. But you're the toughest person I've ever known. We’re going to do this, and we’re going to be fine. We always are. Okay? We've survived getting drafted, survived stations near the front, traveled all over the country, and somehow managed to stay together. What are a few volcra against us?” He smiled, and my heart gave a very loud thump in my chest.

I rubbed my thumb over the scar that ran across the palm of my right hand and took a shaky breath to steady myself. “Okay,” I said grudgingly. "You're probably right." I actually felt myself smiling back. "But if you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll call you a filthy liar."

“Madam’s spirits have been restored!” Mal shouted. “The sun can once more shine!”

“Shut up!” I hissed, eyes darting around us.

He laughed, a big sound from his belly, and I moved to give him a punch, but before I could, he’d grabbed hold of me and lifted me off my feet. A clatter of hooves and shouts split the air, covering my squawk or surprise. Mal yanked me against himself to the side of the road just as a huge black coach roared past, scattering people before it as they ran to avoid the pounding hooves of four black horses. Beside the whip-wielding driver perched two soldiers in charcoal coats.

The Darkling. There was no mistaking his black coach or the uniform of his personal guard.

Another coach, this one lacquered red, rumbled past us at a more leisurely pace.

I looked up at Mal, my heart racing from the close call. “Uh. . . thanks,” I said, my voice uncomfortably unsteady. Mal suddenly seemed to realize that he had his arms around me, clutched against him. He let go and hastily stepped back. I brushed the dust from my coat, taking extra time with my head bent over to let my flush clear.

A third coach rolled by, lacquered in blue, and a girl leaned out the window. She had curling black hair, wore a hat of silver fox, and was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She scanned the watching crowd and, predictably, her eyes lingered on Mal. My fingers twitched

Her lips curled into a small smile as she held Mal’s gaze, watching him over her shoulder until the coach was out of sight. Mal goggled dumbly after her, his mouth slightly open.

". . . You know," I said, knowing that the annoyance in my low-pitched voice would be misinterpreted as sarcasm, "if you keep your mouth open like that, flies are going to build summer homes in there."

Mal blinked, still looking dazed.

“Did you see that?” a voice bellowed. I turned to see Mikhael loping toward us, wearing an almost comical expression of awe. Mikhael was a huge redhead with a wide face and an even wider neck. Behind him, Dubrov, reedy and dark, hurried to catch up. They were both trackers in Mal’s unit, men he went out of his way to take with him on jobs, and never far from his side.

“Of course I saw it,” Mal said, his dopey expression evaporating into a cocky grin. I rolled my eyes and ignored the sting in my chest.

“She looked right at you!” shouted Mikhael, clapping Mal on the back.

Mal gave a casual shrug, but his smile widened. “So she did,” he said smugly.

That time I did nothing to suppress my scoff.

Dubrov shifted nervously. “They say Grisha girls can put spells on you.”

I snorted.

Mikhael looked at me as if he hadn’t even known I was there. “Hey, Sticks,” he said, and gave me a little jab on the arm. I scowled at him in warning, but he had already turned back to Mal. “You know she’ll be staying at camp,” he said with a leer.

“I hear the Grisha tent’s as big as a cathedral,” added Dubrov.

“Lots of nice shadowy nooks,” said Mikhael, and actually waggled his brows.

Mal whooped. Without sparing me another glance, the three of them strode off, shouting and shoving one another.

“Great seeing you guys, too,” I muttered under my breath. "Jackasses." I readjusted the strap of the satchel slung across my shoulders and started back down the road, joining the last few stragglers down the hill and into Kribirsk and suddenly feeling lower on energy than I had before Mal had found me. I didn’t bother to hurry. I wasn't going to get more yelled at the later I got to the Documents Tent.

I rolled my arm where Mikhael had punched me. Sticks. I hated that name. Mikhael didn't know it, but it always reminded me of when Mal and I had been younger: it had taken longer for me to start filling in that it had for him, and I had never quite gotten over watching girls who were so much prettier than I was catch his attention and take it away from me. By the time we were conscripted, I matched him for looks and invitations, and began outpacing him by a mile within another year.

We'd gone through training at Poleznaya with Mikhael. He had been one of my more persistent admirers and had frequently used what he thought was a complementary nickname for me. He was already a friend of Mal's, so I bit back the worst of my temper around him. Then he'd gotten drunk on kvas and tried to paw at me during a spring bonfire, so I'd broken his nose and told him exactly what I'd thought of the name. He'd settled on Sticks afterward. When Mal had asked about the injury I had lied – Mikhael would have gotten worse than a broken nose, otherwise. He was one of a few men who genuinely seemed to want to be close to Mal because he liked him, not for what he could get from him or the scraps he could pick up from his trail, and that was something I would protect. So long as he kept his idiocy away from me. He'd been polite, but aloof, ever since then, which suited me just fine.

Kribirsk wasn’t much to look at. It had been a sleepy market town in the days before the Shadow Fold, little more than a dusty main square and an inn for weary travelers on the Vy. But now it had become a kind of ramshackle port city, growing up around a permanent military encampment and the drydocks where the sandskiffs waited to take passengers through the darkness to West Ravka. I passed taverns and pubs and what I was pretty sure were brothels meant to cater to the troops of the King’s Army. There were shops selling rifles and crossbows, lamps and torches, all necessary equipment for a trek across the Fold. The little church with its whitewashed walls and gleaming onion domes was in surprisingly good repair. Or maybe not so surprising, I considered. Anyone contemplating a trip across the Shadow Fold would be smart to stop and pray.

I found my way to where the surveyors were billeted, deposited my pack on a cot, and made my way over to the Documents Tent. To my relief, the Senior Cartographer was nowhere in sight, and I was able to slip inside unseen.

Entering the white canvas tent, I felt myself relax for the first time since I’d caught sight of the Fold. The Documents Tent was essentially the same in every camp I’d seen, full of bright light and rows of drafting tables where artists and surveyors bent to their work. After the noise and dirt and jostle of the trek, there was something soothing about the crackle and rustle of paper, the smell of ink, and the soft scratching of nibs and brushes.

I pulled my sketchbook from my coat pocket and slid onto a workbench beside Alexei, who turned to me and whispered irritably, “Where have you been?”

“Nearly getting trampled by the Darkling’s coach, and thank you very much for your usual show of deference and respect,” I replied, glancing at his work before starting to flip through my sketches to see if I wanted to copy anything down. Alexei was a junior cartographer technically under my supervision and several years younger than me, and I was responsible for making sure he turned in two good sketches every day. Aside from helping train him, my job was mostly compiling sketches for larger and more detailed maps, some specialty maps, and memorizing a ridiculous amount of information on everything from foreign and domestic geography to the calculations used to correctly scale objects over long distances.

Alexei didn't even have the good grace to pretend to be ashamed. Truthfully, that was exactly how I preferred it. He just drew in a sharp breath. “Really? Did you actually see him?”

“Ug, no, thank the Saints. I was too busy trying not to die.” The Darkling was literally the last person in the world I wanted to be anywhere near.

“There are worse ways to go.” He caught sight of the sketch of a rocky valley in my book. “Remind me how you got to be an apprentice to a Senior Cartographer?”

"My charm and sunny disposition, obviously. That, and the fact that I'm basically older than dirt. Survival becomes its own qualification after a while."

He nodded, accepting my answer. I wasn't certain exactly how old I was, but officially I was somewhere near my 25th year. In reality I could be anywhere between twenty-two and twenty-eight. In a country that had been at war for as many generations as ours had, my age was nothing to scoff at either way - particularly since I'd been in the military for so long. It was true, cartographers didn't get the more dangerous assignments, but I had spent my share of time near the front. All it took was one bad attack to wipe out an entire encampment.

The Senior Cartographer chose that moment to enter the tent and came swooping down the aisle, observing everyone's work as he passed. “I hope that’s Alexei's second sketch, Alina Starkov.”

“Of course it is, sir,” I said, hoping and assuming it was true. "Alexei is a talented young man and I am a very focused teacher."

As soon as the Cartographer had passed on with a dubious hum, Alexei stifled a laugh, and I hit him on the shoulder and shot a glare at him, which he ignored. “Tell me about the coach.”

“I have to study.”

“You never study."

"I might study," I said in dry defensiveness.

He gave me a look and I wanted to dump a pot of ink over his head. "It's a good thing you're so young, or I'd have some very choice words for you right now."

"I'm not that young," he muttered, and I caught a subtle flash of red creeping up his cheek.

Eventually I gave in and Alexei extracted every last detail from me about the three Grisha coaches. I liked him, and he both tolerated me and knew when to take me seriously, so I did my best to satisfy his curiosity as I cleaned up some of my sketches from the last few days of the trip. I'd had several apprentices now, but Alexei was by far my favorite. I secretly hoped he might be assigned with me when he was done apprenticing. I was pretty sure he liked men, which made an actual friendship with him possible.

By the time we were finished, dusk was falling. Alexei handed in his work and we walked to the mess tent, where we stood in line for muddy stew ladled out by a sweaty cook and found seats with some of the other surveyors.

I passed the meal in silence, listening to Alexei and the others exchange camp gossip and jittery talk about tomorrow’s crossing. Some of them were still shy about being themselves around me since I could technically be eating with the officers, but they always learned I was mostly bark sooner rather than later. There would be a lot of first-timers on the crossing this year. Alexei insisted that I retell the story of the Grisha coaches, and it was met by the usual mix of fascination and fear that greeted any mention of the Darkling.

“He’s not natural,” said Eva, an assistant cartographer; she had pretty green eyes that did little to distract from her piglike nose. “None of them are.”

I was so used to hiding my reactions to such things that I barely noticed, and other people were so oblivious that no one caught the little twitch in my jaw.

Alexei sniffed. “Please spare us your superstition, Eva.”

“It was a Darkling who made the Shadow Fold to begin with.”

“That was hundreds of years ago!” protested Alexei. “And that Darkling was completely mad.”

“This one is just as bad.”

“Peasant,” Alexei said, and dismissed her with a wave. Eva gave him an affronted look and deliberately turned away from him to talk to her friends.

I stayed quiet. I was more a peasant than Eva, despite her superstitions. It was only by the Duke’s charity that I could read and write, but by unspoken agreement, Mal and I avoided mentioning Keramzin.

As if on cue, a raucous burst of laughter pulled me from my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder. Mal was holding court at a rowdy table of trackers. He definitely should be eating with the officers. But his promotions were mostly gestures, rewards for years of outstanding service - no one wanted him to stop tracking. So he got his promotions, but no one talked about them, so none of the other men knew what a high rank he actually had aside from the few Mal trusted with the information.

Alexei followed my glance. “How did you two become friends anyway?” _And why aren't you more?_ He didn't have to say the question out loud. I'd heard it countless hundreds of times over the years.

“We grew up together. Got conscripted together, served together, complete crossings together. We've been lucky. Aside from assignments that take one of us away from camp, we've never really been apart.”

Again that look that asked with veiled disbelief why Mal and I weren't more than friends. I had long since grown used to that look. “You don’t have much in common?” he asked.

I shrugged to cover the hurt his words summoned. “I guess it’s easy to have a lot more in common when you’re kids." Like loneliness, and memories of parents we were meant to forget, and the pleasure of escaping chores to play tag in our meadow. "I'm a cartographer, he's a tracker. I'm me and he's. . . well. . . .” I looked over toward him again and didn't have to finish the sentence - he triggered another loud burst of laughter right then.

Alexei looked so skeptical that I had to laugh. “Sometimes people don't mix as more than friends, Alexei. And Mal wasn't always the Amazing Mal, tracker of legend and seducer of pretty Grisha girls.”

Alexei’s jaw dropped. “He seduced a Grisha girl?”

“No," I muttered. "But give him a day or so.” I speared a piece of what looked vaguely like carrot with a sharp stab.

“So what was he like?”

“He was short and pudgy and afraid of baths,” I said.

Alexei glanced at Mal. “I guess things change.”

I rubbed my thumb over the scar in my palm. “Yes. They do.”

We cleared our plates and drifted out of the mess tent into the cool night. On the way back to the barracks, we took a detour so that Alexei could walk by the Grisha camp. I itched with nervousness the entire time and tried not to jump every time someone walked in our direction. The Grisha pavilion really was the size of a cathedral, covered in black silk, its blue, red, and purple pennants flying high above. Not for the first time in my life, I wondered what it would be like to be inside the tent, draped in soft blue cloths and eating like royalty. Hidden somewhere behind it were the Darkling’s tents, guarded by Corporalki Heartrenders and the Darkling’s personal guard.

When Alexei had looked his fill and I had gotten one too many invitations from soldiers unaware of my reputation to help me “enjoy my last night,” we wended our way back to our quarters. Alexei got quiet and started cracking his knuckles, and I knew he was thinking about tomorrow’s crossing - his first. Judging by the gloomy mood in the barracks, he wasn’t alone. Some people were already on their cots, sleeping—or trying to—while others huddled by lamplight, talking in low tones. A few sat clutching their icons, praying to their Saints.

I unfurled my bedroll on a narrow cot, removed my boots, and hung up my coat. Then I wriggled down into the fur-lined blankets and stared up at the roof, waiting for sleep. I stayed that way for a long time, until the lamplights had all been extinguished and the sounds of conversation gave way to soft snores and the rustle of bodies. I wished I could summon light to play with, to soothe my nerves and pass the time.

Tomorrow, if everything went as planned, we would pass safely through to West Ravka and get a glimpse of the True Sea. There, Mal and the other trackers would hunt for red wolves and sea foxes and other coveted animals that could only be found in the far west. I would stay with the cartographers in Os Kervo to work on updating information on the Fold while it was still fresh in my mind, then leave to travel with the Senior cartographer and a few others to make sure Ravka's maps of the west were current. And then, of course, those of us left would have to cross the Fold again in order to return home. But it was always hard to think that far ahead.

I was still wide awake when I heard it. _Tap tap._ Pause. _Tap._ Then again: _Tap tap._ Pause. _Tap._

“What’s going on?” mumbled Alexei drowsily from the cot nearest mine.

“Nothing,” I whispered, already slipping out of my bedroll and shoving my feet into my boots. “Go back to sleep.”

I grabbed my coat and crept out of the barracks as quietly as I could. As I opened the door I heard a giggle, and a female voice called from somewhere in the dark room, “If it’s that tracker, tell him to come inside and keep me warm.”

“If he wants to catch tsifil, I’m sure you’ll be his first stop,” I said sweetly, and slipped out into the night.

The cold air stung my cheeks and I buried my chin in my collar, wishing I’d taken the time to grab my scarf and gloves. The chill didn't bother me quite as much as it did others, even when I couldn't use my power regularly, but the season was changing and the cold that came with it was sharp and biting some nights. Mal was sitting on the rickety steps, his back to me. Beyond him, I could see Mikhael and Dubrov passing a bottle back and forth beneath the glowing lights of the footpath.

I walked quietly forward to stand beside him, and for a time, we just watched the two idiots drink and talk in low voices. "Mal," I finally said. "We can't keep doing this. Some day you're going to have to stop asking for my advice with women, you know. Strike out on your own. Surely you've picked up a tip or two for yourself over the years. Or are you just here to brag about your pending conquest? You interrupted a very good dream." I kept my face carefully neutral, even though he couldn't see it.

“You weren’t sleeping. You were lying awake worrying.”

“Wrong. Well, half wrong. I was planning my own incursion to the Grisha pavilion to snag myself a cute Corporalnik. A few of them made eyes at me earlier while Alexei was looking his fill."

Mal laughed. I hesitated by the door. This was always the hardest part of being around him. I hated hiding how much the things he did hurt me, the perfectly normal things, and it cut being alone like this with him. But I hated the idea of him finding out or of losing him all together even more. I thought about just turning around and going back inside. Instead, I swallowed my hurt and my jealousy and sat down beside him.

“I hope you brought me an offering,” I said lightly. “Alina’s Secrets of Seduction do not come cheap.”

He grinned. “Can you put it on my tab?”

I hummed as if considering. “Very well. But only because I know you’re good for it.” I bumped my shoulder into his.

I peered into the dark and watched Dubrov take a swig from the bottle and then lurch forward. Mikhael put his arm out to steady him, and the sounds of their laughter floated back to us on the night air.

Mal shook his head and sighed. “He always tries to keep up with Mikhael. He’ll probably end up puking on my boots again.”

“Serves you right,” I said with a grin. “So, not that I mind the company, but what are you doing here?” When we’d first started our military service, Mal had visited me every night for a long time. This was the first time he'd sought me out like this in almost a year.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You looked so miserable at dinner.”

I was surprised he’d noticed and tried to keep the shock from my face. “Oh. I was just. . . thinking about the crossing,” I said carefully. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I was terrified of entering the Fold, and Mal didn’t need to know what Alexei and I had been talking about. “But I am touched by your concern,” I added wryly.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, “I worry.”

We sat in silence, watching our breath make plumes in the cold air.

Mal studied the toes of his boots and said, “I guess I’m nervous, too.”

I nudged him with my elbow and said with confidence I didn’t feel, “We're going to be fine, remember? And if we can take on Ana Kuya, we can handle a few volcra.”

“If I remember right, the last time we crossed Ana Kuya, you got your ears boxed and we both ended up mucking out the stables.”

I winced. “I’m trying to be reassuring. You could at least have the decency to play along.”

“You know the funny thing?” he asked. “I actually miss her sometimes.”

I did my best to hide my astonishment. We’d spent more than ten years of our lives in Keramzin, but I'd always gotten the impression that Mal wanted to forget everything about the place. Maybe even me. There he’d been another lost refugee, another orphan made to feel grateful for every mouthful of food, every used pair of boots. In the army, he’d carved out a real place for himself where no one needed to know that he’d once been an unwanted little boy.

“I. . . we could always write to her. I'm sure we fared better than a lot of others.”

“Maybe we could,” Mal said.

Suddenly, he reached out and took hold of my hand. I shoved down the jolt that went through me. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be sitting in the harbor at Os Kervo, looking out at the ocean and drinking kvas.”

I glanced at Dubrov weaving back and forth and smiled. “Is Mikhael buying?”

“Just you and me,” Mal said.

“What?”

“It’s always just you and me, Alina.”

He said it so simply, like it was obvious. I felt a sharp pang, but for a moment, I could pretend it was true. The world was this step, this circle of lamplight, the two of us suspended in the dark. My hand held his tighter for a moment.

Years and years we'd been crossing the Fold, and every time survival was practically a miracle. I didn't know if it was the Grisha girl who'd stared at him earlier, the odd feeling I had about this crossing, or something else, but before I could stop myself, I broached a subject I had left alone for ten years. "Do you ever wonder if things might have been different?" I asked slowly, glad he wouldn't be able to see my cheeks coloring in the low light.

"What do you mean?"

"Just. . . I mean. . . you and I, I guess." I swallowed thickly. My cheeks felt like they were covered in ice and fire. "Someone was talking today, and with the crossing tomorrow, it just got me thinking. Why weren't we ever. . . why didn't we ever. . . . " I couldn't finish. I just sat staring at Mikhael and Dubrov stumbling around, hoping I looked like I couldn't care less about his answer one way or the other.

Mal was quiet for so long I wondered if I had finally popped the tenuous little bubble I lived in when it came to him. But finally he did speak. "I used to. . . uh. . . ." He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. I looked over at him and my brows shot up. Mal was _nervous._ Mal never got nervous. He laughed weakly. "I used to have some very. . . _distracting_ thoughts about you when we were younger, actually. I was a boy and all, I guess. But you weren't. . . ." He looked at me. "You were Alina, you know? Not. . . ." He trailed off with a wave of one hand.

"Not what?" I asked, heart hammering too heard to care how breathless my voice sounded.

"You were my best friend. You're closer than family. You weren't just. . . some girl I took for a tumble. You were better than that."

It felt like my heart stopped in my chest as I stared at him. I wasn't sure what was on my face, but whatever it was, it made his brows draw together. "I know it's weird," he said self-consciously, apologetically I thought, "but it was a long time ago. I don't think about you like that any more, I promise. I haven't since we were children."

If my heart had stopped before, the blood in my veins froze then. "Ah," I said, my voice less steady than I would have liked. "No, I. . . I didn't think you did. It was just something that made me think, like I said."

". . . It bothered you."

"What?"

"Whatever it was they said. It bothered you."

I swallowed. "Well I guess. . . . No," I said to cover what I had wanted to say instead. "I mean, why would it? You're Mal, I'm Alina. We're Mal and Alina. Except something that sounds much less idiotic. Whatever, you know what I mean."

"It's cute how you still think you can lie to me," he said wryly.

"No, what's cute is your ego. What's there to lie about? Should I tell you I'm madly in love with you and always have been and always will be? Shall I share how I'll be pining after you while you go and woo your beautiful new girl?" I batted my eyes at him sarcastically, but to my consternation, his face stayed serious.

". . .I love you, Alina. You know that, right?"

I gave him a look, then quickly said, "Of course I do, dummy," trying to hide the fact that it felt like mortar was being poured into me and hardening. "What's not to love? I hear I'm quite nice to look at. And charming. I am very lovable. Besides, you'd be bored to tears without stories of my latest assault or inappropriately biting comment." I stared at my hands, and it took everything I had to keep them from fidgeting, because Mal was staring at me. 

“Promise me,” he said suddenly.

I rolled my eyes and huffed a breath, internally sagging from relief that I hadn't given myself away. Yet somehow, in a tiny part of myself, I wished that he had known I hadn't been joking. “I have," I replied drily. "Twelve times. Just like I do every saintsforsaken year.”

“One more, then.”

“You're impossible." I paused. ". . .What if something goes wrong?” I asked, revisiting the argument we'd had twelve times, too.

“That's what the Grisha will be there for.”

“Mal I _am-”_

He put a rough hand over my mouth. “Promise. No matter what.”

"It's kind of hard to say anything with that paw over my mouth," I replied unintelligibly. Obligingly though, he removed his hand. “I promise," I said sullenly, then lowered my voice to a whisper. "But if people get maimed and eaten and I have nightmares because I could have done something, you have to stay up with me every night when I can't get back to sleep.”

He ignored the joke. “Mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, idiot. You know I don't want to get found out any more than you want me to get found out. Maybe if you’re lucky, a volcra will have me for breakfast tomorrow and then you won’t have to fret over it anymore.”

“You know I’d be lost without you.”

I snorted. “You’ve never been lost in your life.” I was the mapmaker, but Mal could find true north blindfolded and standing on his head.

He bumped his shoulder against mine. “You know what I mean.”

I made a noncommittal sound, a familiar sting rolling across my skin in waves of heat. Years ago I had known exactly what he meant. Now. . . . I was well into my twenties and I'd never been with a man. Or a woman. I'd tried both, just to be sure, but every time, before things went far, I had found I couldn't go through with it, because every time it had felt like it would be a betrayal. I'd tried because I'd wanted to, then because I'd needed to, then beause I was angry or hurting, but every time was the same. I'd let people think things went farther than they did, and sometimes I snuck off into the dark to kiss someone, but eventually I'd stopped really trying and lost humor with everyone who offered. Mal, on the other hand, tumbled any pretty girl who crossed his path, and had since we'd been teenagers.

It hurt every time he went to bed with someone. Even now, my stomach was in knots, my skin pricking oddly knowing where he was probably headed as soon as he left me. It hurt every time, and I had no one to blame but myself, less willing to take the risk of losing him than I was the pain of being “best friend.” Whatever that meant anymore. I felt like I was stuck ten, fifteen years in the past and Mal was the only one living his life. Sometimes his friendship felt like everything. Other times it felt like a memory, a shadow, and I wondered what in the name of every Saint I was doing. Who knew, maybe when he found the woman for him and married, I'd travel to Os Alta and look into being a real Grisha. I'd never heard of another light summoner. But I loved him either way, and I wouldn't let that go for anything until I had no other choice. So until he found someone, I chose to occupy a space where everything hurt and healed at the same time.

“Come on!” bellowed Mikhael from the path. I almost jumped, I'd been so lost in thought.

Mal started like a man waking from a dream. He gave my hand a last squeeze before he dropped it. “Gotta go,” he said, his brash grin sliding back into place. “Try to get some sleep, ok?”

He hopped lightly from the stairs and jogged off to join his friends. I carefully leaned back on my hands so he couldn't see my face. “Wish me luck!” he called over his shoulder.

“Not even a little,” I muttered quietly, holding a hand up to say goodbye. _Yeah, Mal, have a lovely time. I hope you and your Grisha fall deeply in love and make lots of gorgeous, talented babies together. I also wouldn't complain if you fell into a ditch on your way there._

I sat on the steps, watching them disappear down the path, still feeling the warm pressure of Mal’s hand in mine and an old, horrible ache in my chest.

I edged back into the barracks, closed the door tightly behind me, and gratefully crawled back into my bedroll.

I pushed thoughts of the Grisha girl away. It was none of my business, and really, I didn’t want to know. Thinking about it would be pathetic and do nothing but make me feel sick. Despite what he'd said tonight, Mal had never looked at me the way he’d looked at that girl or even the way he looked at Ruby, and he never would. Plenty of other men did, but never Mal. He lived his life the way he saw fit, and I supported him, as he supported me, no matter how cranky or angry or spinster-like I was. As long as he wasn't a colossal idiot about what he did with his time, I had nothing much to say. Out loud, anyway.

_How much longer will this last?_ said a nagging voice in my head. Alexei was right: things change, and Mal and I were past an age where most people started getting married and making families. We had changed for the better since we'd been young. He’d gotten handsomer, braver, cockier and even more talented. And I’d gotten. . . prettier. Taller, older. More droll and sarcastic and biting, more tired with life. I sighed and rolled onto my side. I wanted to believe that Mal and I would always be friends, but just then, I didn't even know what that meant, and I had to face the fact that eventually, we would move to different paths. It was a miracle we hadn't already. Eventually, I'd look up and he'd be nowhere in sight. I wondered if he would even really notice when I wasn't there any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be spoilers in the comments on this chapter *ambiguous pirate noise*
> 
> 10/14/16: back-edited to promote Alina from Junior Cartographer. Utter indifference is one thing, but after eight+ years in the military and given that she's not a total slouch, I felt being a J.C. was on the ridiculous side. This will create errors if it's mentioned elsewhere, so feel free to point them out, otherwise I'll catch them on one of my million re-reads.
> 
> 3/12/17: Mal is now an officer, Alina is now an apprentice Senior Cartographer, and this is not their first rodeo in the Fold. They've been in the army for like nine years FFS, and attrition seems pretty high in the Ravkan military. Minor changes also made and some dialogue added/altered throughout to better reflect this Alina's and this Mal's characters. Will carry the changes forward as I update other chapters.


	3. To Ash

The morning passed in a blur: breakfast, a brief trip to the Documents Tent to pack additional inks and paper, then the chaos of the drydock. I stood with the rest of the surveyors, waiting our turn to board one of a small fleet of sandskiffs. Behind us, Kribirsk was waking up and going about its business. Ahead lay the strange, shifting darkness of the Fold, stretching as far as I could see in each direction and leaving only a thin ribbon of blue visible above it.

Animals were too noisy and scared too easily for travel on the Unsea, so crossings were made on sandskiffs, massive shallow sleds rigged with enormous sails that let them skate almost soundlessly over the dead gray sands. The skiffs were loaded with grain, timber, and raw cotton, and on the trip back they would be stocked with sugar, rifles, and all manner of finished goods that passed through the seaports of West Ravka. Looking out at the skiff’s deck, equipped with little more than a sail and a railing, all I could think was that it offered no place to hide.

At the mast of each sled, flanked by heavily armed soldiers, stood two Grisha Etherealki, the Order of Summoners, in dark blue kefta. The silver embroidery at their cuffs and the hems of their robes indicated that they were Squallers, Grisha who could raise or lower the pressure of the air and fill the skiffs’ sails with wind that would carry us across the long miles of the Fold.

Soldiers armed with rifles and overseen by a grim officer lined the railings. Between them stood more Etherealki, but their blue robes bore the red cuffs that indicated they could raise fire.

At a signal from the skiff’s captain, the Senior Cartographer herded me, Alexei, and the assistants onto the skiff to join the other passengers. Then he took his place beside the Squallers at the mast, where he would help them navigate through the dark. He had a compass in his hand, but it would be of little use once we were on the Fold. As we crowded on deck, I caught a glimpse of Mal standing with the trackers on the other side of the skiff. They were also armed with rifles. A row of archers stood behind them, the quivers on their backs bristling with arrows tipped in Grisha steel. I fingered the hilt of the army-issue knife tucked into my belt. It didn’t give me much confidence.

A shout rang out from the foreman on the docks, and crews of burly men on the ground began pushing the skiffs into the colorless sand that marked the farthest reaches of the Fold. They stepped back hurriedly, as if that pale, dead sand would burn their feet.

Then it was our turn, and with a sudden jolt our skiff lurched forward, creaking against the earth as the dockworkers heaved. I grabbed the railing to steady myself, my heart beating wildly. The Squallers lifted their arms. The sails billowed open with a loud snap, and our skiff surged forward into the Fold.

At first, it was like drifting into a thick cloud of smoke, but there was no heat, no smell of fire. Sounds seemed to dampen and the world became still. I watched the sandskiffs ahead of us slide into the darkness, fading from view, one after another. I realized that I could no longer see the prow of our skiff and then that I could not see my own hand on the railing. I looked back over my shoulder. The living world had disappeared. Darkness fell around us, black, weightless, and absolute. We were in the Fold.

It was like standing at the end of everything. I held tight to the railing, feeling the wood dig into my hand, grateful for its solidity. I focused on that and the feel of my toes in my boots, gripping the deck. To my left, I could hear Alexei breathing.

I tried to think about the soldiers with their rifles and the blue-robed Grisha pyros. The hope in crossing the Fold was that we would pass through silently and unnoticed; no shot would sound, no fire would be summoned. But their presence comforted me all the same.

I don’t know how long we went on that way, the skiffs floating forward, the only sound the gentle rasp of sand on their hulls. We moved through the Fold without a sense of time. _We’re going to be okay,_ I thought to myself. _We’re going to be okay._ Then I felt Alexei’s hand fumbling for mine. He seized hold of my wrist.

“Listen!” he whispered, and his voice was hoarse with terror. For a moment, all I heard was his ragged breathing and the steady hiss of the skiff. Then, somewhere out in the darkness, another sound, faint but relentless: the rhythmic flapping of wings.

I grabbed Alexei’s arm with one hand and clutched the hilt of my knife with the other, my heart pounding, my eyes straining to see something, anything in the blackness. I heard the sound of triggers being cocked, the tap of arrows being notched. Someone whispered, “Be ready.” We waited, listening to the sound of wings beating the air, growing louder as they drew nearer, like the drums of an oncoming army. I thought I could feel the wind stir against my cheek as they circled closer, closer.

“Burn!” The command rang out, followed by the crackle of flint striking stone and an explosive whoosh as rippling blooms of Grisha flame erupted from each of the skiffs.

I squinted into the sudden brightness, waiting for my vision to adjust. In the firelight, I saw them. Volcra were supposed to move in small flocks, but there they were. . . not tens but hundreds, hovering and swooping in the air around the skiff. The reality of them was more frightening than anything I had ever seen in any book, than any monster I could have imagined. Shots rang out. The archers let fly, and the shrieks of volcra split the air, high and horrible. My power ached to come to the surface, to bring its light to the darkness and its certainty and protection to the fear.

The volcra dove. I heard a shrill wail and watched in horror as a soldier was lifted from his feet and carried into the air, kicking and struggling. Alexei and I huddled together, crouched low against the railing, clinging to our flimsy knives and muttering our prayers as the world dissolved into nightmare. All around us, men shouted, people screamed, soldiers were locked in combat with the massive, writhing forms of winged beasts, and the unnatural darkness of the Fold was broken in fits and starts by bursts of golden Grisha flame.

Then a cry rent the air next to me. I gasped as Alexei’s arm was yanked from mine. In a spurt of flame, I saw him clutching at the railing with one hand. I saw his howling mouth, his wide, terrified eyes, and the monstrous thing that held him in its glistening gray arms, its wings beating the air as it lifted him from his feet, its thick claws sunk deep into his back, its talons already wet with his blood. Alexei’s fingers slipped on the railing. I lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

“Hold on!” I shouted.

Then the flame vanished, and in the darkness I felt Alexei’s fingers pulled from mine.

“Alexei!” I cried.

His screams faded into the sounds of battle as the volcra carried him into the dark. Another burst of flame lit the sky, but he was gone.

My power surged helplessly under my skin and I felt as if I had thrown him over the side myself.

“Alexei!” I yelled, leaning over the side of the railing. “Alexei!”

The answer to my screaming came in a gust of wings as another volcra swooped down on me. I careened backward, barely avoiding its grasp, my knife held out before me with trembling hands. The volcra lunged forward, firelight glinting off its milky, sightless eyes, its gaping mouth crowded with rows of sharp, crooked black teeth. I saw a flash of powder from the corner of my eye, heard a rifle shot, and the volcra stumbled, yowling in rage and pain.

“Move!” It was Mal, rifle in hand, face streaked with blood. He grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him.

The volcra was still coming, clawing its way across the deck, one of its wings hanging at a crooked angle. Mal was trying to reload in the firelight, but the volcra was too fast. 

“Mal. . .” I said, a warning and a plea.

“No!” His voice was rigid.

The volcra rushed at us, claws slashing, its talons tearing across Mal’s chest. He screamed in pain.

I grabbed hold of the volcra’s broken wing and stabbed my knife deep between its shoulders. Its muscled flesh felt slimy beneath my hands. It screeched and thrashed free of my grip, and I fell backward, hitting the deck hard. It lunged at me in a frenzy of rage, its huge jaws snapping as I held it back.

Another shot rang out. The volcra stumbled and fell in a grotesque heap, black blood pouring from its mouth. In the dim light, I saw Mal lowering his rifle. His torn shirt was dark with blood. The rifle slid from his fingers as he swayed and fell to his knees, then collapsed onto the deck.

“Mal!” I was at his side in an instant, my hands pressing down on his chest in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. “No, no, no,” I sobbed, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

The air was thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder. All around us, I heard rifle fire, people weeping. . . and the obscene sound of something feeding. The flames of the Grisha were growing weaker, more sporadic, and worst of all, I realized the skiff had stopped moving.

“Mal,” I looked at him, desperate, keeping pressure on the wound. “Please. We'll die if I don't do something,” I whispered.

“Don't,” he gasped. His breathing was labored. “Don't, Alina. You promised.”

I looked up and saw, in the feeble, fading glow of Grisha fire, two volcra swooping down upon us.

I huddled over Mal, shielding his body with mine, ready to die if would give him another moment. I smelled the fetid stench of the volcra, felt the air gusting from their wings. I pressed my forehead to Mal’s and heard him whisper, “I’ll meet you in the meadow.”

Something inside me gave way in fury, in hopelessness. I felt Mal’s blood beneath my palms, saw the pain in his beloved face. A volcra screeched in triumph as its talons sank into my shoulder. Pain shot through my body and I cried out.

I twisted around, the volcra's talons tearing deeper into my shoulder with the movement, and set it aflame. Its screech was cut off as my light burned so hot that it dissolved to ash. I flung my arm up, and the world went white. 

Light, bright and warm as the sun, radiated around us from nowhere and everywhere, flooding the skiff, ushered in by the pained cries of monsters and met by the horrified look on my best friend's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/7/17: Light no longer comes from Alina's body when she rescues the peeps. Seemed too obvious for someone who already knows how to use her powers and _doesn't_ want to get caught. Now off to fix the testimonials in the next chapter.
> 
> ~~It was really hard not to have Alina take down the volcra with her first ever Cut. But, you know, nobody likes an OP main character, and the only two people who can use the Cut are living amplifiers. So logic wins again. I hate that guy, he's such a wet blanket.~~


	4. Mouse

I snuffed the light out as quickly as I had brought it forth. For a long moment, the only sound was panting breath, the moans and cries of the wounded, and hundreds of sets of beating wings as they faded into the distance. Then everyone seemed to start shouting at once. No one knew where the light had come from, and I stole a relieved and nervous glance at Mal, but his eyes were glazed over from the pain. There was no help for him here – Healers were too valuable to risk on the Fold.

The captain regained command and shouted for silence, then ordered the Squallers to get us back to shore. There was more talking, hushed voices, arguing, but I didn't pay attention until I felt the muzzle of a rifle press into my cheek.

“Stand up and back away from him,” a cold voice said.

Slowly, I turned to look up and found the Captain staring down at me with a mixture of fear and anger. He was joined by two more armed soldiers and one of the Corporalnik. With a thrum of panic, I saw that the cuffs of her red kefta were embroidered in black. I lifted my hands and rose to my feet carefully. Every eye on the skiff was on us, and no one said anything as we were driven back to shore on a strong wind.

 

* * * * *

 

Shouts for help rang out the moment the black of the Fold began to thin, giving way to dark wisps and, between them, a bright autumn sun. I closed my eyes, feeling relief wash over me. We were out of the Fold. And a Healer could get to Mal.

There was a jolt as the skiff came aground. Even this small motion had me clamping down on a sound of pain from the wound in my shoulder, though I had been allowed to lower my arms during the return trip. I stumbled as the skiff started to move again, pulled forward by the drydock workers on land. Instinctively, I reached out to steady myself, but the soldier I extended my hand toward shrank back from me as if burned. I tried to ignore the sickness in my gut at his revulsion. It was one of many reasons Mal and I had so carefully guarded my secret. I managed to find my footing, but my thoughts were reeling. The skiff halted again. There were soldiers and Grisha standing by the railings, bloodied, singed, and considerably fewer in number than when we had set out. They were all watching me warily. Mostly I was just watching Mal as he fought to breathe.

To the captain I said, “Malyen Oretsev. The man I was kneeling over." I tipped my head in his direction. "He needs to be seen to.” No one moved. “I didn't do anything,” I said, my voice pleading. “Please help him. He'll die. He's the best tracker we have.” Recognition flashed in the captain's eyes – Mal had gained an almost legendary reputation for his skill over the years, and the man had heard of him. Without taking his eyes off me, he nodded to a healer and said “find him.”

I nearly sagged with relief.

The captain gestured at me with his rifle. “Move.”

I looked back to the skiff, trying to see Mal, but there were too many people in the way. I thought about simply refusing to go, but a glance at the Heartrender made me reconsider. As if he knew what I was thinking, the captain repeated his command. _“Move.”_

The soldiers led me at riflepoint from the skiff. I passed the other survivors, acutely aware of their curious and frightened stares, and caught sight of the Senior Cartographer babbling excitedly to a soldier. I wanted to stop to tell him what had happened to Alexei, but I didn’t dare.

As the soldiers walked me up the main road, people turned from their work to gawk. I clenched my jaw in annoyance and fear. The wounds near my shoulder throbbed. I ran over options in my mind, lies that had worked in the past when I'd come too close to being found out, options for escape if those failed, ways Mal and I had to contact each other if I ran, and how much risk it would put him in if I contacted him at all.

These thoughts were driven from my mind as we approached the Officers’ Tent. The captain called the guards to a halt and stepped toward the entrance.

The Corporalnik reached out a hand to stop him. “This is a waste of time. We should proceed immediately to—”

“Take your hand off me, bloodletter,” the captain snapped and shook his arm free.

For a moment, the Corporalnik stared at him, her eyes dangerous, then she smiled coldly and bowed. “Da, kapitan.”

I felt the hair on my arms rise.

The captain disappeared inside the tent. We waited. I glanced nervously at the Corporalnik, who had apparently forgotten her feud with the captain and was scrutinizing me as she had done almost the entire skiff ride back. She was young, maybe not out of her early teens, but that hadn’t stopped her from confronting a superior officer. Why would it? She could kill the captain where he stood without ever raising a weapon. I rubbed my arms, trying to shake the chill that had settled over me.

The tent flap opened, and I was horrified to see the captain emerge followed by a stern Colonel Raevsky.

The colonel peered at me, his weathered face grim. “What are you?”

I straightened, a poor imitation of a stand at attention. “Cartographer Alina Starkov. Royal Corps of Surveyors—”

He cut me off. _“What_ are you?”

I blinked, blood rushing to my face. “I … I’m a mapmaker, sir.” Mal and I had been practicing every possible confrontation I could have because of my powers for years, so I was prepared, but the real thing was infinitely more nauseating than pretending had been.

Raevsky scowled. He pulled one of the soldiers aside and muttered something to him that sent the soldier sprinting back toward the drydocks. “Let’s go,” he said tersely.

I felt the jab of a rifle barrel in my back and walked forward, shooting a glare over my shoulder at the soldier wielding it and feeling a small wave of satisfaction when he paled at my look. I had a very bad feeling about where I was being taken, and as the huge black tent loomed larger and larger before us, there could be no doubt about where we were headed. I found I was shaking.

The entrance to the Grisha tent was guarded by more Corporalki Heartrenders and charcoal-clad oprichniki, the elite soldiers who made up the Darkling’s personal guard. The oprichniki weren’t Grisha, but they were just as frightening.

The Corporalnik from the skiff conferred with the guards at the front of the tent, then she and Colonel Raevsky disappeared inside. I waited, my heart racing, aware of the whispers and stares behind me, my anxiety rising, processing and discarding as impossible every attempt to run that I could think of.

High above, four flags fluttered in the breeze: blue, red, purple, and above them all, black. Just last night, Mal and his friends had been laughing about trying to get into this tent, wondering what they might find inside. And now it seemed I would be the one to find out. I wondered if he was ok.

After what seemed an eternity, the Corporalnik returned and nodded at the captain, who led me into the Grisha tent. I balked at the entrance and had to be pushed inside.

For a moment, all my fear disappeared, eclipsed by the beauty that surrounded me. The tent’s inner walls were draped with cascades of bronze silk that caught the glimmering candlelight from chandeliers sparkling high above. The floors were covered in rich rugs and furs. Along the walls, shimmering silken partitions separated compartments where Grisha clustered in their vibrant kefta. Some stood talking, others lounged on cushions drinking tea. Two were bent over a game of chess. From somewhere, I heard the strings of a balalaika being plucked. The Duke’s estate had been beautiful, but it was a melancholy beauty of dusty rooms and peeling paint, the echo of something that had once been grand. The Grisha tent was like nothing I had ever seen before, a place alive with power and wealth.

The soldiers walked me down a long carpeted aisle at the end of which I could see a black pavilion on a raised dais, occasionally giving me a push when I slowed too much. A ripple of curiosity spread through the tent as we passed. Grisha men and women stopped their conversations to gape at me; a few even rose to get a better look. My breathing came high and fast, though I did my best to control it and keep my face calm. I could feel tension around my eyes.

By the time we reached the dais, the room was all but silent. In front of the black pavilion, a few richly attired ministers wearing the King’s double eagle and a group of Corporalki clustered around a long table spread with maps. At the head of the table was an ornately carved, high-backed chair of blackest ebony, and upon it lounged a figure in a black kefta, his chin resting on one pale hand. Only one Grisha wore black, was permitted to wear black. Colonel Raevsky stood beside him, speaking in tones far too low for me to hear.

I closed my eyes. Every muscle in my body was tensed; with great effort, I forced them to relax and my face to calm, silently repeating the word, _calm,_ to myself in soothing tones, hoping that whatever tension remained would be interpreted as the fear of someone who'd just nearly been carried off and eaten rather than the guilt of someone who thought they were in trouble. I stood taller, straightened my neck, and lowered my chin to a point of deference and humility.

I opened my eyes and stared ahead to the dais, torn between fear and fascination. _He’s too young,_ I thought. This Darkling had been commanding the Grisha since before I was born, but the man seated above me on the dais didn’t look older than I did. He had a sharp, beautiful face, a shock of long, thick black hair tied in a loose knot at the back of his head, and clear gray eyes that glimmered like quartz. I knew that the more powerful Grisha were said to live long lives, and Darklings were the most powerful of them all. But I felt the wrongness of it and I remembered Eva’s words: _He’s not natural. None of them are._ I felt a sting at the memory just like I had when she'd said them.

A high, tinkling laugh sounded from the crowd that had formed near me at the base of the dais. I recognized the beautiful girl in blue, the one from the Etherealki coach who had been so taken with Mal, and fought viciously to suppress a surge of disgusted anger. She whispered something to her chestnut-haired friend, and they both laughed again. My cheeks burned as I imagined what I must look like in a torn, shabby coat, after a journey into the Shadow Fold and a battle with a flock of hungry volcra, and how I could prove I was better than her if only. . . . Unwilling to follow that thought, I looked the beautiful girl right in the eye, my expression flat and cold. She held my gaze for a moment and then looked away. I enjoyed a brief flash of satisfaction before Colonel Raevsky’s voice brought me back to the reality of my situation.

“Bring them,” he called. I turned at the sound of more soldiers leading a battered and bewildered group of people into the tent and up the aisle. Among them, I spotted the soldier who had been beside me when the volcra attacked and the Senior Cartographer, his usually tidy coat torn and dirty, his face frightened. My fear and distress grew as I realized that these were the survivors from my sandskiff and that they had been brought before the Darkling as witnesses. I let loose a string of silent curses and petitioned to every Saint I had ever heard of.

My breath caught as I recognized the trackers in the group. I saw Mikhael first, his shaggy red hair bobbing above the crowd on his thick neck, and leaning on him, bandages peeking out from his bloodied shirt, was a very pale, very tired-looking Mal. My legs went weak, chest folding in on itself, and I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle a sob. The presence of the Darkling was the only thing that kept me from pushing through the crowd to get to him.

It didn't look like the Healer had seen to him, but Mal was alive, and relief flooded through me. Whatever happened here, we would be all right, and if he was here, I could get through this. We had survived the Fold, and we would survive this madness, too.

I looked back at the dais and my calm and hope withered. The Darkling was looking directly at me. He was still listening to Colonel Raevsky, his posture just as relaxed as it had been before, but his gaze was focused, intent. He turned his attention back to the colonel and I realized that I had been holding my breath.

When the bedraggled group of survivors reached the base of the dais, Colonel Raevsky ordered, “Kapitan, report.”

The captain stood at attention and answered in an expressionless voice: “Approximately thirty minutes into the crossing, we were set upon by a large flock of volcra. We were pinned down and sustaining heavy casualties. I was fighting on the starboard side of the skiff. At that point, I saw. . .” The man hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded less sure. “I don’t know exactly what I saw. A blaze of light. Bright as noon, brighter. Like staring into the sun.”

My stomach sank and my heart went along with it as I struggled to keep my face calm. The crowd erupted into murmurs. The survivors from the skiff were nodding, and I stood as if carved from stone, repeating my mantra and pretending I was standing safely next to Mal. I stole a glance at him. He was watching me, masking worry. I twitched my lips, whispering a reassuring smile, but his tension didn't ease.

The soldier snapped back to attention and continued, “The volcra scattered and the light disappeared. I ordered us back to drydock immediately.”

“And the woman?” asked the Darkling.

“I didn’t see the woman, moi soverenyi. She was pointed out on the skiff.”

The Darkling raised an eyebrow, turning to the other survivors. “Who actually saw what happened?” His voice was cool, distant, almost disinterested.

The survivors broke into muttered discussion with one another. Then slowly, timidly, the Senior Cartographer stepped forward. I felt a keen twinge of pity for him. I’d never seen him so disheveled. His sparse brown hair was standing at all angles on his head; his fingers plucked nervously at his ruined coat. My pity vanished when I realized that this must mean he was the one who had given me away on the skiff.

“Tell us what you saw,” said Raevsky.

The Cartographer licked his lips. “We. . . we were under attack,” he said tremulously. “There was fighting all around. Such noise. So much blood. . . . One of the boys, Alexei, was taken. It was terrible, terrible.”

My eyes narrowed in outrage. If had had seen Alexei attacked, then why hadn’t he tried to help?

The old man cleared his throat. “They were everywhere. I saw one go after her—”

“Who?” asked Raevsky.

“Alina. . . Alina Starkov, one of my cartographers.”

The beautiful girl in blue smirked and leaned over to whisper to her friend. I clenched my jaw and shot her a look of murder. How nice to know that the Grisha could still maintain their snobbery in the midst of hearing about a volcra attack and heavy casualties.

“Go on,” Raevsky pressed.

“I saw one go after her and the tracker,” the Cartographer said, gesturing to Mal.

“Then where were you?” I shouted angrily. The question was out of my mouth before I could think better of it, my hands balled into fists. “If you saw all this, if you saw them pull Alexei from my hands, _where were you?”_

“There was nothing I could do,” he pleaded, his hands spread wide, as if I was supposed to understand. “They were everywhere. It was chaos!”

“That's why you should have gotten off your bony ass to help!” I yelled, oblivious in my anger to the stares and whispers and muffled laughter. “I'm half your size and I still managed to grab Alexei's hand, stab one, pull on a wing! I did anything I could. You were supposed to be our leader and you stayed back!”

“I'm not a soldier, I'm a cartographer!”

“No, I'm a cartographer! _You_ are a useless coward,” I spat.

There was a gasp and a burble of laughter from the crowd. The Cartographer flushed angrily and I felt instantly sorry. If I got out of this mess, I was going to be in very big trouble. I realized belatedly that it was myself I was really yelling at. Maybe he hadn't helped, but I'd held back, too, and Alexei and many others were dead because of it.

“Enough!” boomed Raevsky. “Tell us what you saw, Cartographer.”

The crowd hushed and the Cartographer licked his lips again. “The tracker went down. She was beside him. That thing, the volcra, was coming at them. I saw it on top of her and then it caught fire and vanished, and she looked up, raised an arm into the air, and right where she looked it. . . lit up. Everything went gold, like the sun, then white. It was so bright I had to close my eyes.”

I felt the blood drain from my face and quickly turned away from the Darkling to hide my reaction, using the excuse of looking back at Mal. Seeing his face, I prayed that I didn't look as stricken as he did.

The Grisha erupted into exclamations of disbelief and derision. A few of them laughed outright.

“I saw it!” he shouted over the din. “Light came out of her!”

Some of the Grisha were jeering openly now, but others were yelling, “Let him speak!” The Cartographer looked desperately to his fellow survivors for support, and to my horror, I saw some of them nod.

“This is absurd!” said a voice from the crowd. It was the beautiful girl in blue. “What are you suggesting, old man? That you’ve found us a Sun Summoner?” Oddly, I suddenly found myself hating her less.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he protested. “I’m only telling what I saw!”

“It’s not impossible,” said a heavyset Grisha. He wore the deep purple kefta of a Materialnik, a member of the Order of Fabrikators. “There are stories—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the girl laughed, her voice thick with scorn. “The man’s had his wits rattled by the volcra!”

The crowd erupted into loud argument.

My world contracted until it became nothing but Mal. He did not look hopeful, and this was going downhill fast. _I'm sorry,_ I mouthed subtly at him, begging him to understand. He shook his head fractionally, but there was no anger on his face. Its absence didn't made me feel any better.

“Quiet.” The Darkling barely seemed to raise his voice, but the command sliced through the crowd and silence fell.

I suppressed a shiver. If by no small miracle I made it out of here free, I hoped he would have a sense of humor about having his time wasted, or at least that he wouldn't blame me for it. The Darkling wasn’t known for mercy. Maybe instead of worrying about being found out, I should be concerned with exile to Tsibeya. Or worse. Eva said that the Darkling had once ordered a Corporalki Healer to seal a traitor’s mouth shut permanently. The man’s lips had been grafted together and he had starved to death. At the time, Alexei and I had laughed and dismissed it as another of Eva’s crazy stories. I suddenly found it carried more weight.

“Tracker,” the Darkling said softly, “what did you see?”

As one, the crowd turned toward Mal, who looked uneasily at me and then back at the Darkling. “Nothing. I didn’t see anything.”

“The girl was right beside you.”

Mal nodded.

“You must have seen something.”

Mal glanced at me again, his look weighted with worry and fatigue. I’d never seen him so pale, and I wondered how much blood he had lost. I felt a surge of anger at having time wasted when he needed a Healer.

“Just tell us what you remember,” commanded Raevsky.

Mal shrugged slightly and winced at the pain from his wounds. I suppressed the urge to go help him. His voice was a weak, unsteady version of its normal smooth tone. “I was on my back on the deck. Alina was next to me. I saw the volcra diving, and I knew it was coming for us. I said something and—”

“What did you say?” The Darkling’s cool voice cut through the room.

“I don’t remember,” Mal said. I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw and knew he was lying. He did remember. “I smelled the volcra, saw it swooping down on us. Alina yelled and it caught fire and then I couldn’t see anything. The world was just. . .shining.”

“So you didn’t see where the light was coming from?” Raevsky asked.

Mal shook his head.

"Or the fire?" the Darkling asked.

“One of the pyros, I assumed. Alina and I are from the same village.” I noticed that tiny change in inflection as he said 'village,' like he had to force the word out. The orphan’s inflection. “I've known her my whole life. If she could do anything like that, I would know.”

The Darkling looked at Mal for a long moment and then glanced back at me.

“We all have our secrets,” he said.

My heart dropped. Why was he so willing to consider this possible when everyone else saw how ludicrous it was?

Mal opened his mouth as if to say more, but the Darkling put up a hand to silence him. Anger flashed across Mal’s features but he shut his mouth, his lips pressed into a grim line and his jaw clenched.

The Darkling rose from his chair. He gestured and the soldiers stepped back, leaving me alone to face him. The tent seemed eerily silent. Slowly, he descended the steps.

I stood taller as he approached, rather than backing away like I wanted to as he came to a halt in front of me.

“Now, what do you say, Alina Starkov?” he asked pleasantly.

I swallowed. My throat was dry and my heart was careening from beat to beat. “I saw what everyone else saw,” I said hoarsely. I cleared my throat. “Light, and then nothing. I flung my arm up to protect myself.”

“And the fire? The volcra disappearing?”

“We had pyros on board, like Mal said.” I didn't speculate that one might have burned it to ash - a feat I had never been able to accomplish before today. One of the things I'd learned long ago about keeping my abilities a secret was to not help anyone to information they didn't already have. That, and I'd never heard of a Grisha pyro who could command a fire to burn with that much heat.

The Darkling appeared to consider this. Then he crossed his arms, cocked his head to one side. “Well,” he said, his voice bemused. “I like to think that I know everything that happens in Ravka, and that if I had a Sun Summoner living in my own country, I’d be aware of it.” Soft murmurs of assent rose from the crowd, but he ignored them, watching me closely. “But something powerful stopped the volcra and saved the King’s skiffs.”

A muscle in my jaw twitched and his eyes went to it. In that moment, understanding flooded me. The tension went out of me and was replaced by numbness. The Darkling was observant; _that_ was why I hadn't liked him looking at me, why I felt like he saw too much - because he did. He saw what other people chose not to see, what Mal and I relied on them choosing not to see.

The Darkling's eyes slid back up to my face, and when he met my gaze again, any doubt I had been clinging to melted away: he knew I was lying. My ruse was over, my life was over, and my freedom was gone, if I even lived through the rest of the day. I looked away from the Darkling to Mal, and his face crumpled when he saw my resignation. He shook his head, eyes pleading. _No,_ he mouthed in a tiny movement of lips.

The Darkling waited as if he expected me to solve the conundrum of the volcra attack for him.

I turned back and shrugged lazily. If I was found out, I had no reason to play nice to the man who was about to either kill me or take everything from me. Face blank, I said “Don't know what to tell you,” in a flippant tone. “Aside from a nice face, I'm nothing special. I can find a dozen people to attest to that in my unit alone. Or ask my boss,” I shoved my thumb sharply in the direction of the Cartographer. “He'll tell you I'm nothing but an untalented pain in the ass, and as you've probably guessed, his standards aren't high.” I ignored the muffled laughter from around the room. Nearly everyone around me, including Raevsky, had stiffened at my tone. I heard the beautiful Grisha's laugh and wanted to turn around and throw something with sharp corners at her. “I'd just as soon not waste any more of your time. I don't imagine it's a game you play if you want to live to old age,” I finished, meeting his cool gaze with my own.

The side of the Darkling’s mouth twitched, as if he were repressing a smile. His eyes slid over me from head to toe and back again. I felt like something strange and shiny, a curiosity that had washed up on a lake shore, that he might take home or kick aside with his boot.

I bristled, but hid it.

“Is your memory as faulty as your friend’s?” he asked and bobbed his head toward Mal.

“No. But I had a set of talons in my shoulder. Whatever he said, I was probably too distracted to hear it.”

“Hold out your arm,” said the Darkling.

I froze, my angry numbness vanishing instantly. “What?”

“As you said, we’ve wasted enough time. Hold out your arm.”

A cold spike of fear went through me. His face betrayed nothing. I glanced around me. The soldiers stared forward, stone-faced. The survivors from the skiff looked frightened and tired. The Grisha regarded me curiously. The girl in blue was smirking. Mal’s pale face seemed to have gone even whiter, but there was no answer in his eyes.

Slowly, I held out my right arm.

“Push up your sleeve.”

I shot him a look that was half entreating, half rebellious.

The Darkling looked at me, waiting. Without taking my eyes off him, I pushed up my sleeve.

He spread his arms and panic washed through me as I saw his palms filling with something black that pooled and curled through the air like ink in water.

“Now,” he said in that same soft, conversational voice, as if we were sitting together drinking tea, as if I did not stand before him quailing, “let’s see what you can do.”

He brought his hands together and there was a sound like a thunderclap. A small, scared noise came from my throat as undulating darkness spread from his clasped hands, spilling in a black wave over me and the crowd.

I was blind. The room was gone. Everything was gone. I felt the Darkling’s fingers close around my bare wrist and moved to yank it away, but suddenly my fear receded. It was still there, cringing like an animal inside me, but it had been pushed aside by something calm and sure and powerful, the same thing I had felt when the examiners had come to Keramzin when Mal and I were young. I steeled myself for what would come next.

A call rang through me and my power, my light, rose up to answer. I shoved it down and away pitilessly. Much, much more than when I was a child, if it got free now, it would destroy everything.

“Nothing there?” the Darkling murmured. I realized how very close he was to me in the dark, and felt a trill of victory. _Nothing there,_ I crowed. _That’s right, nothing. Nothing at all. Now let me leave!_ I tried to pull my arm back, but was again stopped by his grip.

“Not so fast,” he whispered. I had just enough time for panic to flood me before felt something cold press against the inside of my forearm. In the same moment that I realized it was a knife, the blade cut into my skin.

Power surged inside me, speeding to the Darkling's call and as desperate to protect me as it had been on the Fold. At the last possible moment, when I felt it shatter my control, I cried out. “No!” The world exploded into blazing white light. The darkness around us shattered like glass. My eyes were squeezed shut, painful defeat searing through me. Failure. Sorrow. Fear. The end to everything I had fought for the better part of two decades to protect.

_Mal._

Bitter anger took hold, rage, and I slammed my hand over The Darkling's, locking it in place on my wrist. I dug my nails in, taking hold of the power he forced upon me, yanking in what I had tried to shove away. I felt my heartbreak, my love for Mal, years spent in meadows and hallways and markets and barracks, the heartache I felt every time I saw him look at another girl just so, the bitterness of everything I was about to lose, and the fury at the man in front of me who wanted to so callously take it away, as if it meant nothing. I let it all feed me. In that moment, I hated the Darkling with such intensity that it almost overwhelmed me.

My light blazed brighter and hotter until my hair billowed around me in the rising heat. I burned, I glowed like a sun, like a white-hot star, making sweat break out on the people around me, making them turn away and shield their eyes, and when I could get no brighter, no hotter, no angrier, I simply maintained. I had never wielded so much power, and I felt I could go on until I razed this place to the ground. I opened my eyes, face full of boiling anger.

I found him looking back at me through the brilliance, eyes steady and intense, alive with some emotion I didn't recognize. Surprised and disquieted, my hold on my anger broke and the light abruptly fled. The Darkling pulled his hand from under my now slack grip, and with his touch went that sense of certainty that had possessed me.

I could still feel the warm glow of sunshine on my skin, and despite its comfort, I instantly regretted what I had just done.

For a moment, I saw the faces of the crowd, their mouths wide with shock. Blood was running down my arm from the cut the Darkling had given me, dripping from one of my fingers.

“Ivan!” the Darkling shouted. A tall, broad Heartrender hurried from the dais to his side. “Get her to my coach. I want her surrounded by an armed guard at all times. Take her to the Little Palace and stop for nothing.” Ivan nodded. “And bring a Healer to see to her wounds.”

“No," I whispered hoarsely, but the Darkling was already turning away. "No!" I shouted and grabbed hold of his arm, ignoring the gasp that rose from the Grisha onlookers. “Don't. . . .” My voice trailed off as the Darkling turned slowly to me, his slate eyes drifting to where my hand gripped him. I refused to let go, stubbornly tightening my hold instead. “I’m not what you think I am,” I whispered tightly. His eyes drifted up to mine and I looked at him, face pleading.

The Darkling stepped closer to me and said, his voice so low that only I could hear, “I doubt you have any idea what you are.” Then he nodded to Ivan. “Go!”

The Darkling turned his back on me, pulling his arm from my grip as if I were no more than a child, and walked swiftly toward the dais, where he was swarmed by advisers and ministers, all talking loudly and rapidly.

“No!” I cried, despondent, desperate.

I pushed forward, but Ivan grabbed me roughly by the arm. “Come on.”

“Ivan,” called the Darkling, “mind your tone. She is Grisha now.”

I felt the starch go out of me, as if those words made all of this final.

Ivan reddened slightly and gave a small bow, but his grip on my arm didn’t slacken as he pulled me down the aisle. When the Darkling didn't turn back to me, I yanked my arm from Ivan's grip and tried to approach Mal. I didn't get one step before Ivan's hand was back on my arm, so hard it almost hurt, and when I yanked again his grip only tightened more. I would have bruises in the shapes of his fingers. He pulled me toward the exit, hardly seeming to feel my attempts to drag myself in the opposite direction, and utterly unconcerned with my shouts and protests.

I was watching Mal with growing panic. He was arguing with the captain from the sandskiff. As if he felt my eyes on him, he looked up and met my gaze. I could see my own panic mirrored in his white face.

“Mal. Mal!” I cried. When it was clear I could not wrest my arm free, I yelled, voice a half-sob, “I'm sorry!” Then I was pulled through the tent flaps, his stricken face disappearing from view.

I wondered if I would ever see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P. one of my favorite lines: "I guess you only look like a mouse." No matter what version of it I tried, every time I read over that section in this story, it made me cringe. So...in memoriam.
> 
> Spoilers in the comments on this chapter.
> 
> 2/7/17: Changed a thing to match a change from the last chapter, took away Alina's glowing eyes and hair during her rage tantrum (seemed kind of. . .meh. Over the top-ish? idk), and make like a bajillion cosmetic changes.


	5. Thank You

Though I had stopped fighting the moment the tent flaps closed, Ivan still gripped my arm painfully as he pulled me down a low hill to the road where the Darkling’s black coach was already waiting, surrounded by a ring of mounted Grisha Etherealki and flanked by lines of armed cavalry. Two of the Darkling’s charcoal-clad guards waited by the door to the coach with a woman and a fair-haired man, both of whom wore Corporalki red.

“Get in,” commanded Ivan. Then, seeming to remember the Darkling’s order, he added, “if you please.”

“Boss isn't here, Happy. No need to play nice,” I said bitterly.

“I follow orders,” he said, curt.

“No wonder you're the favorite,” I said with a cold smile, then climbed into the carriage before he could decide I needed “help” getting in.

“You know this is a mistake, right?” I asked placidly as I seated myself and Ivan climbed in and sat opposite me. The other Corporalki joined him, followed by the oprichniki guards, who settled on either side of me.

“The Darkling doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” I said, tone final.

I imagined I could hear the large man's teeth grinding together.

With a smug grin, I moved to settle back into the cushioned seat but jerked forward with a hiss of pain, followed by an eye roll and sigh of annoyance. I had forgotten my wounds.

“See to her,” Ivan said to the female Corporalnik. Her cuffs were embroidered in Healer’s gray.

The woman switched places with one of the oprichniki so that she could sit beside me.

A soldier ducked his head inside the door. “We’re ready,” he said.

“Good,” replied Ivan. “Stay alert and keep moving.”

“We’ll only stop to change horses. If we stop before then, you’ll know something is wrong.”

The soldier disappeared, closing the door behind him. The driver didn’t hesitate. With a cry and the snap of a whip, the coach lurched forward, and with it, what little breakfast I'd had hours ago threatened to come back up. If I'd thought there was a prayer of escape, anywhere I could hide, I'd throw open a carriage door and run. Instead, I watched out the window as the Grisha pavilion – and Mal – disappeared.

“Please remove your coat,” said the woman beside me.

“What?” I said, attention being jerked back to the inside of the coach.

“I need to see to your wounds.”

I eyeballed the lovely woman. “Do you have disinfectant and bandages?”

“Of course.”

“Then just that, please.”

The woman exchanged a glance with Ivan as I gingerly shrugged out of my military coat.

“The Darkling ordered you healed,” Ivan said, as if that settled it.

“Then the Darkling can punish me for insubordination when we get to Os Alta,” I replied, flinty. “Unless you want to hold me down while she works, Ivan. You're big. You might manage it.” I looked him up and down, arching an eyebrow flirtatiously, and was rewarded with a furious glare. It was far, far too easy to get under his skin. At least I wouldn't be bored on the ride.

I remembered the Darkling's reputation and looked at the woman. “Will you get in trouble if you don't heal me?” I held the woman's gaze, trying to keep her attention so she wouldn't look at Ivan for an answer.

One side of the woman's mouth twitched. “Not if you insist you'll have to be held down for me to do it. But I would like you to let me work on your back at least a little – the wounds are deep.”

“Just make sure they don't get infected. I'm fine with scars,” I said. Especially ones that serve as reminders – like the one on my palm, or the one that would form above it from the cut on my arm. The day my life got taken away, and what took it. I turned to angle myself so my back was toward the healer.

She took something out of a little satchel and a sharp chemical scent filled the coach. Whatever she was using stung horribly, but my only reaction was to press my teeth together.

“You've got decent pain tolerance,” the fair-haird Corporalnik said in a conversational tone. “I've felt that stuff. Not exactly a light touch.”

I shrugged my good shoulder. “It stings. Hardly the worst thing in the world.” I thought of the stings I'd felt watching Mal with other women, and the discomfort from the disinfectant nearly disappeared.

“Why refuse the healing? You can't tell me you don't trust Grisha abilities,” the lean Heartrender asked, tone wry.

The truth was, I was so angry at the situation that I would die of sepsis before I accepted help from the Darkling, even indirect and utterly sensical as this was. Plus he'd ordered me to be healed, so to my mind, I got to snub him twice by refusing. It was childish, but it was still satisfying.

“It'll give me something to focus on besides Ivan's charm and sunny disposition,” I answered. “Otherwise I'd worry over my risk of falling hopelessly in love before this Saints-cursed day is out.”

Fedyor barked a laugh, and Ivan's scowl deepened.

“Oh, come on, Happy, it was a joke. You'll wrinkle prematurely if you keep that up. Then all the adoring women friends you no doubt have pining your absence at home would be out for my head, which would make the Darkling feel put out, seeing how much trouble he's gone to to steal me away. So really, smiling is in service to your beloved leader. And besides,” I added, deadpan, “you wouldn't want to ruin _my_ fantastic mood, would you?”

I recognized the look of a man who wanted to hit something, and felt satisfied at the small victory, remembering too late that Ivan wouldn't likely want to hit so much as stop my heart in my chest.

“I'll need you to take off your shirt if you want me to bandage your shoulder,” the Healer said without a drop of shyness.

“Can I leave the breast band on?”

She nodded. “You won't reach the palace for a few days, and the dressing will need to be changed before then, anyway. I'll leave you the supplies.”

“Uh....” I said helplessly.

She raised her eyebrows.

“What can I say? Our wise and most holy King spares no expense in training Ravka's soldiers.”

“I can do it,” the fair-haired Corporalki said. “I trained as a healer for a while. If it gets too bad, I can close it up, but it'll leave those scars you said you didn't mind. Fedyor, by the way.”

“A pleasure,” I said as I casually and gingerly stripped out of my shirt and raised my shoulder to give the Healer easier access as she wrapped the wound. The army had all but erased my notions of modesty long ago. The men in the car, however, averted their gazes. If I hadn't wanted to burn my way out of the lacquered carriage, I might have found it almost adorable.

“All done,” the Healer said once she'd finished, and helped me slip my shirt back on. “Now the arm.”

My wrist and hand were sticky with blood. She wiped the cut clean and then held my arm up to the light. "This needs stitches," she said, frowning.

"Go for it," I replied flatly.

"I don't have any anesthetic."

Of course she didn't.

I shrugged a shoulder. "I've had it done without a numbing agent before; the army's been under-funded since long before I joined. It'll hurt like hell. Then it'll be over. Besides," I added, batting my lashes at the large Heartrender across from me, "I'm sure Ivan will let me hold his hand in a show of solidarity for his new sister."

His gaze on me was stony. I snorted quietly and looked away.

The Healer didn't seem happy about mending my arm like this, but she did a clean job of it. The scar would be minimal when it healed. While she worked, my free hand clutched the edge of the bench I sat on until my hand turned white, and I gritted my teeth so hard I probably almost chipped at least one. About halfway through the procedure, to my great surprise, the guard sitting on my other side offered me his hand. I didn't think twice about taking it - though he grunted once my grip tightened.

The Healer finished closing the wound and repeated the process she'd used on my shoulder. The poor guard had to pry my hand out of his. I saw him flexing it as I examined the Healer's work - the wrapping was clean and secure when she was done. The woman was good at what she did, even when it didn't involve the Small Science.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. I knew she likely hadn't preferred to to heal me the clumsy way.

She nodded.

“Give her your kefta,” Ivan said to her.

The woman frowned but hesitated only a moment before she shrugged out of her red kefta and held it out to me.

“Why do I need this?” I asked.

“Just take it,” Ivan growled.

“There's that winning charm again,” I muttered. I took the kefta from the Healer. She kept her face blank, but I could tell it pained her to part with it, and I felt a pang for her. I understood what it was like when something that might seem small or insignificant to others mattered to you. As an orphan, those were usually the only things that _could_ matter to you.

Ivan tapped the roof and the coach began to slow. The Healer didn’t even wait for it to stop moving before she opened the door and swung outside.

Ivan pulled the door shut. The oprichnik slipped back into the seat beside me, and we were on our way once more.

“Where is she going?” I asked.

“Back to Kribirsk,” replied Ivan. “We’ll travel faster with less weight.”

I eyed his considerable bulk pointedly.

“Put on the kefta,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because it’s made with Materialki corecloth. It can withstand rifle fire.”

I gaped at him. There were stories of Grisha withstanding direct gunshots and surviving what should have been fatal wounds. I’d never taken them seriously, but maybe Fabrikator handiwork was the truth behind those peasant tales.

“Do you all wear this stuff?” I asked as I begrudgingly pulled on the garment.

“When we’re in the field,” said an oprichnik. I nearly jumped. It was the first time either of the guards had spoken.

“Just don’t get shot in the head,” Ivan added with a condescending grin.

“Well now you've jinxed it. Fedyor, if I get shot in the head, be sure to tell the Darkling whose fault it is.”

The man looked away from Ivan, clearly suppressing a smile.

The kefta was far too large. It felt soft and unfamiliar, the fur lining warm against my skin. I chewed my lip.

“Why don't soldiers have this?” I asked, trying to keep the accusation from my voice, as I toyed with the fabric of a sleeve.

“It's expensive and hard to make,” Ivan said.

“Ah. So not worth wasting on the people who are out there actually getting shot at on a regular basis. Best saved for special occasions and more important people.” I shook my head and looked out the window, disgusted.

The coach picked up speed.

 

* * * * *

 

Dusk had begun to fall and we had left Kribirsk behind. I leaned forward, straining to see out the window, but the world outside was a twilight blur. I felt tears threaten and blinked them back. A few hours ago, I’d been a frightened girl on my way into the unknown, but at least I’d known who I was, what my life was, and what it could and couldn't be. With a pang, I thought of the Documents Tent. The other surveyors might be at their work right now. Would they be mourning Alexei? Would they be talking about me and what had happened on the Fold?

I clutched the crumpled army-issue coat I had bundled up on my lap. I wished this was a dream: wearing a Grisha’s kefta, sitting in the Darkling’s coach—the same coach that had almost crushed me only yesterday.

Someone lit a lamp inside the coach, and in the flickering light I could better see its silken interior. The seats were heavily cushioned black velvet. _This thing must be a beast to keep clean,_ I thought. On the windows, the Darkling’s symbol had been cut into the glass: two overlapping circles, the sun in eclipse.

Across from me, the two Heartrenders were studying me with open curiosity. Their red kefta were of the finest wool, embroidered lavishly in black and lined in black fur. Fedyor was lanky and had a long, melancholy face. Ivan was taller, broader, with wavy brown hair and sun-bronzed skin. Now that I bothered to look, I had to admit he was handsome. _And knows it, too._ Either a big handsome bully, or a scared man hiding under an angry face. I found I was interested to know which.

I shifted restlessly in my seat, uncomfortable with their stares. Before today, no one had ever seen my powers but Mal and me. I was used to getting looked at, but not as if I were a curiosity. I looked out the window, but there was nothing to see except the growing darkness and my own pale reflection. I looked back at the Grisha and tried to quash my irritation. They were still gawking at me. I reminded myself that these men could make my heart explode in my chest, but eventually I just couldn’t stand it.

I sighed and held a hand up, summoning a cool, softly glowing orb of white light above my palm. “Soak it in, boys, because if you two don't stop staring after this, I'll light your hair on fire.”

Fedyor barked a laugh, and Ivan looked annoyed, but four sets of eyes were rapt on the light in my palm. I shifted it to sunlight, warm and golden.

Fedyor leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Will it burn me?”

“Fedyor,” I teased, “are you asking if you can _touch it?_ At least buy me flowers first. A girl likes an effort.”

He was so absorbed in staring at the light that only a small smile twitched at his lips. He couldn't have payed me a better compliment.

I smiled and shaped the orb into a long, thick rope of light, which I wound playfully around one of Fedyor's ankles, up an arm, around his neck, and over a cheek.

He was startled only a moment. “It's warm,” he said in wonder.

“Sunlight,” I said, smiling despite myself. I didn't have Mal anymore – I choked at the thought, unable to even finish it – but I still had this. This, my light, no one could take.

“How did you change the color?” Ivan asked, eyes darting to my face and away from the ribbon of light that now hung in the air between us.

I balked at the question instinctively. Almost two decades of conditioning had made secrecy about all of this second nature to me. But there was no reason to hide it anymore. I'd been outed as Grisha, and soon everyone would likely know what I could do. I could keep some secrets, of course, but this was a harmless piece of information.

“Before was starlight. At night I can pull either stars or sun, since that's what bounces off the moon.”

“Can you do other colors?” One of the oprichniki surprised me by asking – the one who had let me crush his hand as the Healer worked on my arm.

I nodded, smiling. Despite this day, I couldn't deny that I felt joy at being able to share what I was, at not having to hide it for fear of discovery. The four men in the coach weren't disgusted or afraid of what I could do, but genuinely interested and curious. Mine and Mal's minds had been plenty inquisitive as we had grown up, and we'd found many ways to twist and use my power, but two minds were still only two minds.

I worked the ribbon of light, now hovering and wafting in the air at the center of the coach, through the color spectrum as I explained. “I haven't been able to do a rainbow yet. The most I can manage is two colors at once, but that takes concentration. Even this much isn't as easy as straight sunlight. That's what comes most naturally.”

“Unbelievable,” Fedyor muttered. Then, looking to me, said more clearly, “You bend the wavelengths of light?”

I nodded and closed my hand. The light winked out of existence.

“Where did a soldier learn the sciences?” Ivan asked.

I shrugged. “I wasn't always a soldier.” Keramzin had provided – insisted on – a complete education for each of its children. I didn't think Mal or I would admit it to Ana Kuya, but that education had served us well. I turned to the window and stared at nothing, letting my eyes unfocus.

The coach hit a bump and jolted forward.

“Is this safe?” I asked. “To be traveling at night?”

“No,” Fedyor said. “But it would be considerably more dangerous to stop.”

“Why? What was the hurry in getting me out of Kribirsk? Why the guards? What's so special about me?”

“For hundreds of years, the Shadow Fold has been doing our enemies’ work, closing off our ports, choking us, making us weak. Your power could be the key to opening up the Fold—or maybe even destroying it. Fjerda and the Shu Han won’t just stand by and let that happen.”

I gaped at him. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered.

Fedyor looked me up and down and then smiled slightly. “Maybe,” he said.

I frowned. He was agreeing with me, but I felt insulted.

“Within a few hours of our departure from Kribirsk," Ivan said, "every Fjerdan spy and Shu Han assassin will have found out what happened on the Fold, and they’ll be coming for you. Our only chance is to get you to Os Alta and behind the palace walls before anyone else realizes what you are.”

“. . .Cheery,” I said weakly.

“Why did you keep yourself hidden?” Ivan asked with much more anger than seemed necessary. It sounded like an accusation.

It was a long moment before I answered, and I did so in a quiet voice. “To protect someone.”

“Were they worth everyone who's died to the Shadow Fold and the wars?” Ivan nearly spat.

Fedyor glanced at him.

“I have glowing fingers and make little balls of light, Ivan. Was there some reason I was supposed to think I could do something against the swath of living darkness that runs the entire depth of our country and is fifty miles across at its widest point? If the idea had occurred to me, I promise, I would have walked myself to Os Alta if I'd had to. And as for the wars, I really don't think Ravka's enemies would tremble at the prospect of a warm beam of sunlight. About the scariest thing I can do is light people on fire, and you already have Etherialki for that.” It was true I had other offensive abilities, but not many, and certainly nothing an army would fear.

“What you did back in the tent was no warm beam of sunlight,” Ivan sneered.

I shifted in my seat. Finding a comfortable position while squeezed between two heavily armed soldiers was not effortless. “What I did back in the tent wasn't normal,” I said uncomfortably. “The Darkling. . .did something.”

Ivan laughed. “He didn’t do anything. He’s an amplifier.”

“A what?”

Fedyor and Ivan exchanged a glance.

Ivan reached inside his collar and removed something on a thin silver chain. He held it out for me to examine.

I edged forward to get a better view. It looked like a cluster of sharp black. . . “Claws?”

“My amplifier,” Ivan said with pride. “The claws from the forepaw of a Sherborn bear. I killed it myself when I left school and joined the Darkling’s service.” That couldn't have been long ago. Ivan looked younger than I was. But then, the Darkling didn't look his age, either. Ivan leaned back in his seat and tucked the chain into his collar.

“An amplifier increases a Grisha’s power,” said Fedyor.

“Do all Grisha have them?” I asked.

Fedyor stiffened. “No,” he said. “Amplifiers are rare and hard to obtain.”

“Only the Darkling’s most favored Grisha have them,” Ivan said smugly.

It took effort not to roll my eyes.

“The Darkling is a living amplifier,” Fedyor said. “That’s what you felt.”

“Like the claws? That’s his power?”

 _"One_ of his powers,” corrected Ivan.

I pulled the kefta tighter around me, feeling suddenly cold. I remembered the surety that had flooded through me with the Darkling’s touch, and that call echoing through me, a call that demanded an answer. It had been frightening, unnerving, but exhilarating, too. In that moment, all my doubt and fear had been replaced by a kind of absolute certainty. Did Ivan feel that way all the time? I was no one, a refugee from an unnamed village, an orphan, a girl who loved a boy in secret and had to live as a shadow of herself. But when the Darkling had closed his fingers around my wrist, I’d felt different, like something more. I shut my eyes, remembering the feeling of certainty, trying to recall it, but all I found was the memory of it, like music heard through walls.

I sighed and opened my eyes. Ivan looked highly amused. The urge to smack him upside the head was almost overwhelming.

“Problem, Happy?” I asked acidly.

His smile dropped. Clearly he disliked my nickname for him. That he hadn't deigned to tell me to stop yet coupled with his obvious overabundance of pride only told me how much he hated it.

“How did you hide it?” Ivan asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Your power,” Ivan said impatiently. “How did you hide it?”

A slow smile spread across my lips. “I'm very good at keeping secrets, Ivan,” I said in a low voice, and winked at him.

He scowled.

I smirked.

“Is it true that families are compensated when a Grisha child is taken?” I asked after a while. My voice was quiet, and my eyes did not leave the black window.

“Well compensated,” Ivan answered.

“And you, being the Sun Summoner? Your family will be set for life,” Fedyor added with a wide smile.

I hummed in reply. “Well, if nothing else, at least I'll be easy on the budget.”

“What do you mean?”

After a moment, I turned to glance briefly at Fedyor as I answered. “I don't have a family.” I thought of Mal, and added in almost a whisper, “not anymore.”

Several minutes later, when Ivan still hadn't looked away from me, I turned to him, my expression as blank as his. A single tear had fallen, rolling down my cheek, and I was too proud to hide it or wipe it away.

I had had enough of this man and his attitude. I'd learned a long time ago to recognize which people you could bend with, and which you needed to show iron to, and so I refused to break eye contact until finally Ivan looked away. Did he have a thing for orphans? I hadn't implied that I was one, and it was hard to find a person who _hadn't_ lost someone to the wars. Maybe I just seemed more human to him now, someone with a life and a history. Less like an annoying, insignificant bug.

I tried to look out the window, tying myself up in sullen thoughts.

After a long while, Fedyor spoke again. I hadn't noticed him studying me.

“It's not so bad, you know. The little palace.”

“I know. I've heard the recruitment speech. 'Nice clothes, good food, warm beds, fame and fortune, pretty girls. . . .' All you have to do is give up your freedom.”

“It is an honor to be Grisha,” Ivan accused.

“And yet here I am, situated in a pretty little prison cell because of it. I'll never be free another day in my life.”

“You were so free before?” Ivan scoffed. “Tromping around in the mud, drawing pictures, following orders?”

“I chose that life, Ivan. I didn't choose this. And you tromp around in the mud and follow orders, too. You just do it in better clothes and for a commanding officer who's infinitely more terrifying than mine.”

He looked at me a moment, then shook his head as if I were too thick to understand. His eyes turned toward the window, unfocusing.

“The perks are nice, but they're not the point,” Fedyor said. “It's a place to belong. The little palace and Second Army give us a family. We're not odd there, not looked at with fear or suspicion or hate or greed. We are Grisha. We belong.”

Something in me that I'd long ago suppressed tugged at me.

“Your family.” Ivan said. “Is that why you weren't tested?” If I thought the man capable, I would have said he sounded almost gentle. Begrudgingly gentle.

“I was tested,” I replied.

He looked at me and his brow furrowed. “How did you hide it from the examiners? _Why_ did you hide it?”

I looked at him so long, scrutinizing his face, that I could see stubbornness and arrogant pride war with discomfort. This time, though, he did not look away. The smallest of smiles reached my lips. Quietly, I said “I had something to protect, like I told you. It was more important.”

“More important than your powers?” Ivan had a look of horrified disgust.

Fedyor looked incredulous. Even the oprichniki had turned to look at me. It was unnerving having the eyes of four people who could end me before I could stand up fixed on me.

“More important than my powers,” I said even more quietly, not looking at any of them.

The coach was silent until Ivan made a noise of disgust and turned away.

“Is derision your natural state, or do you just really like me?” I asked, my tone scathing.

His lip curled.

 

* * * * *

 

I lost track of time. Night and day passed through the windows of the coach. Fedyor redid my dressings. I spent most of my time staring out at the landscape, searching for landmarks to give me some sense of the familiar. I’d expected that we would take side roads, but instead we stuck to the Vy, and Fedyor explained that the Darkling had opted for speed over stealth. He was hoping to get me safe behind Os Alta’s double walls before rumor of my power spread to the enemy spies and assassins who operated within Ravka’s borders.

We kept a brutal pace. Occasionally, we stopped to change horses and I was allowed to stretch my legs. When I was able to sleep, usually falling sideways onto one of my guards and waking with my jacket tucked over my arms, my dreams were plagued by monsters and loss and the accusing faces of dead soldiers.

Once, I awoke with a start, my heart pounding, to find Fedyor watching me. Ivan was asleep beside him, snoring loudly.

“Who’s Mal?” he asked.

I realized I must have been talking in my sleep. Embarrassed and oddly fearful, as though I needed to keep these people away from Mal, I glanced at the oprichniki guards flanking me. One stared impassively forward. The other was dozing. Outside, the afternoon sun shone through a grove of birchwood trees as we rumbled past.

“A friend.”

“The tracker?”

I had yelled his name in the tent and tried to rip away from Ivan to get to him. Keeping his existence to myself wasn't possible. I nodded reluctantly. “He was with me on the Shadow Fold. He saved my life.”

“And you saved his. It’s a great honor,” said Fedyor. “To save a life. You saved many.”

“Not enough,” I murmured, thinking of the terrified look on Alexei’s face as he was pulled into the darkness. I had been exposed as Grisha in the end, so holding back in the Shadow Fold had been pointless. Every life lost that morning was on my shoulders. I looked at Fedyor. “If you believe that saving a life is an honor, then why not become a Healer instead of a Heartrender?”

Fedyor considered the passing scenery. “Of all Grisha, Corporalki have the hardest road. We require the most training and the most study. At the end of it all, I felt I could save more lives as a Heartrender.”

“By taking them?” I asked in surprise.

“By being a soldier,” Fedyor corrected. He shrugged. “To kill or to cure?” he said with a sad smile. “We each have our own gifts.” Abruptly, his expression changed. He sat up straight and jabbed Ivan in the side. “Wake up!”

The coach had stopped. I jolted upright, wary.

The coach door flew open and a soldier ducked his head in.

“There’s a fallen tree across the road,” he said. “But it could be a trap. Be alert and—”

He never finished his sentence. A shot rang out and he fell forward, a bullet in his back. Suddenly, the air was full of panicked cries and the teeth-rattling sound of rifle fire as a volley of bullets struck the coach.

“Get down!” yelled the guard beside me, shielding my body with his own as Ivan kicked the dead soldier out of the way and pulled the door closed.

“Fjerdans,” said the other guard, peering outside.

Ivan turned to Fedyor and the guard beside me. “Fedyor, go with him. You take this side. We’ll take the other. At all costs, defend the coach.”

Fedyor pulled a large knife from his belt and handed it to me. “Stay close to the floor and stay quiet.”

The Grisha waited with the guards, crouching by the windows, then at a signal from Ivan they leapt through to doors on either side and slammed them closed once they were out. I crouched on the floor as low as I could get, clutching the knife’s heavy hilt, my back pressed against the base of the seat. Outside, I could hear the sounds of fighting, metal on metal, grunts and shouts, horses whinnying. The coach shook as a body slammed against the glass of the window. I saw with horror that it was one of my guards, the one who had thrown himself over me. His body left a red smear against the glass as he slid from view.

Remembering a trick Mal and I had used more than once to escape trouble, I bent light away from my body to make myself invisible just moments before the coach door flew open and a man with a wild, yellow-bearded face appeared. I scrambled to the other side of the compartment. He barked something to his compatriots in his strange Fjerdan tongue. The door behind me opened, surprising me and breaking my concentration. I flickered into view and the man at my back grabbed me under the arms, pulling me roughly from the coach as I cried out, dropping the knife to push my hand into his face, light gathered tightly enough in my palm to scald. He howled, his flesh searing as if under a brand, and his grip loosened. I pulled myself free and paused just long enough to assess my surroundings.

We were in a wooded glen where the Vy narrowed to pass between two sloping hills. All around me, soldiers and Grisha were fighting with bearded men. Trees burst into flames, caught in the line of Grisha fire. I saw Fedyor throw his hand out, and the man before him crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest, blood trickling from his mouth. Nearby, Ivan was tackled from behind and fell to the ground, more Fjerdans closing in around him. I swung my arm, setting them ablaze.

I kept my eyes away as they dropped to the ground, but couldn't shut out the screams.

“Get out of here!” Ivan bellowed, the man who had knocked him to the ground already dead beside him.

“You're welcome!” I called shakily, already running away from the fighting. I scrambled up a hill abutting the glen, my feet slipping on the fallen leaves that covered the forest floor, my breath coming in gasps. I made it halfway up the slope before I was tackled from behind, the air leaving my lungs as I hit the ground and a tearing pain going through my shoulder.

I twisted and kicked as a yellow-bearded man grabbed hold of my legs. I felt a crunch through the sole of my boot as it connected with his nose. He let out a cry of rage and gripped my ankle tightly. I looked desperately down to the glen, but the soldiers and Grisha below me were fighting for their lives, clearly outnumbered and unable to come to my aid. I growled in frustration and raised a hand to call my light, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted it painfully. He climbed on top of me, using his knees to pin my arms to my sides, and backhanded me so hard my head snapped to one side, stunning me and making it impossible to move or think.

“I'll gut you right here, witch,” he snarled in a heavy Fjerdan accent. Light gleamed off a knife in his hand.

At that moment, I heard the pounding of hooves and my attacker turned his head to look down at the road.

A group of riders roared into the glen, their kefta streaming red and blue, their hands blazing fire and thunder. The lead rider was dressed in black.

The Darkling dropped from his mount before it had come to a full stop and threw his hands wide, then brought them together with a resounding boom. Skeins of darkness shot from his clasped hands, snaking through the glen, finding the Fjerdan assassins, then slithering up their bodies to swathe their faces in seething shadow. They screamed. Some dropped their swords; others waved them blindly.

I watched in mingled awe and horror as the Ravkan fighters seized the advantage, cutting down the blinded, helpless men with ease.

The bearded man on top of me muttered something I did not understand. I thought it might be a prayer. He was staring, frozen, at the Darkling, his terror palpable.

I took my chance. “I’m here!” I called.

The Fjerdan crushed my throat under a hand, his face furious.

The Darkling’s head turned. He raised his hands.

“Nej!” yelled the Fjerdan, his knife held high. “I don’t need to see to put my knife through her heart!”

I struggled under him hard enough that he released my neck to backhand me again. I recovered more quickly that time, and turned my head slowly back to him, meeting his eyes with quiet rage.

Silence fell in the glen, broken only by the moans of dying men. The Darkling dropped his hands.

“You must realize that you’re surrounded,” he said calmly, his voice carrying through the trees.

The assassin’s gaze darted right and left, then up to the crest of the hill where Ravkan soldiers were emerging, rifles trained on him. As the Fjerdan looked around frantically, the Darkling edged a few steps up the slope.

I held my breath.

“No closer!” the man shrieked.

The Darkling stopped. “Give her to me,” he said, “and I'll let you scurry back to your king.”

The assassin gave a crazed little giggle. “Oh no, oh no. I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head, his knife held high above my pounding heart, its cruel point gleaming in the sun. “The Darkling doesn’t spare lives.” He looked down at me. His lashes were light blond, almost invisible.

“It's true,” I said quietly. “His reputation is to scare foreigners. Ravkans know him for his mercy. It's one of our biggest secrets. . . .Like me.”

The man shook his head. “No. No, he will not have you,” he said softly. “He will not have the witch. He will not have this power, too.” He raised the knife higher and yowled, “Skirden Fjerda!”

The knife plunged down in a shining arc. I turned my head to the side and squeezed my eyes shut in tense fear, and as I did, I glimpsed the Darkling, his arm slashing through the air in front of him. I heard another crack like thunder and then. . . nothing.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and took in the horror before me. The man on top of me had been cut in two. His head, his right shoulder, and his arm lay on the forest floor, his white hand still clasping the knife. The rest of him swayed for a moment above me, a dark wisp of smoke fading in the air beside the wound that ran the length of his severed torso. Then what remained of him fell forward toward my face.

My eyes bulged and I scrabbled backwards, out from under the mutilated body, unable to make a sound.

The Darkling hurried up the hill and knelt in front of me, blocking my view of the corpse. “Look at me,” he instructed.

I tried to focus on his face, but all I could see was the assassin's severed body where it lay just behind him, its blood pooling in the damp leaves.

“Can you stand?”

I took a moment, then nodded shakily. He reached down for my hands but I planted them on the ground and carefully rose. When my gaze slid back toward the corpse, he took hold of my chin and drew my eyes back to his. “At me,” he commanded.

I obeyed. Then I shook my head and gently but firmly pulled my chin from his grasp. “I need. . . I need to see.”

His eyes on me were sharp, assessing, but after a moment he nodded, a single, shallow dip of his chin.

He watched me closely as I moved around him and took in the sight of the Fjerdan's body, keeping my eyes away from the livid red on each half of him. Was this what my life life meant now? Was this was what it could be, what it would be, and what I would be surrounded by? Not the death, necessarily, but the ability to mete it out so simply? The horror? More than games and tricks and easy escapes from trouble, was this what my power would mean?

I had never seen anyone die before, but I had heard from soldiers who had, and who had killed people themselves. They had said the face of the dead person would stay with you. I hadn't seen the volcra I'd killed on the Fold, and I'd refused to look at the Fjerdans I'd cut down to save Ivan. Maybe this man could take their places. I would rather be haunted by a face than a specter. And if I didn't face what had had just happened, it would haunt me, too.

My eyes caught the glint of the blade in his hand. I knew I wasn't going back to the army, back to Mal, back to being a soldier or a nobody. There was only forward for me now, the Darkling had seen to that. If this was what forward would look like, could look like, then I would not forget it. So I walked toward to the corpse, refusing the give enough weight to the death and what had come before to walk around the pool of blood. I left behind sticky crimson boot prints and fought hard to keep down bile as I walked to his hand and bent down, pulling the dagger from his fingers. The tip of the blade had been resting in his blood, so I wiped it on his shirt and stood, tucking the knife into my boot as I did. The Darkling's face was unreadable as he watched me.

I looked at him, but he didn't say anything. He had the same look he'd worn in the Grisha tent, like he was seeing more than I wanted him to. I whirled away from him as what little was in my stomach spilled to the ground. I stayed bent over, panting and spitting, and wiped my mouth with the back of a shaking hand.

“We need to move, Alina,” the Darkling's voice said from right next to me. He placed a gentle hand on my back. I looked up at him and nodded, straightening. He led me down the hill and called out orders to his men.

“Clear the road. I need twenty riders.”

“The girl?” Ivan asked.

“Rides with me,” said the Darkling.

He left me by his horse as he went to confer with Ivan and his captains. I was relieved to see Fedyor with them, clutching his arm but looking otherwise uninjured, and my second guard near him. I patted the horse’s sweaty flank and breathed in the clean leather smell of the black saddle, trying to slow the beating of my heart and to look anywhere but at the bodies around us. Eventually I just rested my forehead against the animal's strong neck.

A few minutes later, I saw soldiers and Grisha mounting their horses. Several men had finished clearing the tree from the road, and others were riding out with the much-battered coach.

“A decoy,” said the Darkling, coming up beside me. “We'll take the southern trails. It's what we should have done in the first place.”

“So you do make mistakes,” I muttered without thinking.

He paused in the act of pulling on his gloves, and I felt a trill of fear.

“Of course I make mistakes,” he said.

I looked up at him.

His mouth curved into a half smile. “Just not often.”

I huffed a small breath, half amused and half relieved.

He raised his hood and offered me his hand to help me onto the horse. I hesitated. He stood before me, a dark rider, cloaked in black, his features in shadow. He had taken me away from everything. No, he had taken everything away from me, and replaced it with fear and anger, with bodies rent in two and smoking from spent fire, with blood soaking into the earth. His world was everything I didn't want, everything I had fought almost my whole life to hide from, and the very symbol of it now held out his hand to me, as if asking for my blessing to take me away.

“I did what I had to, Alina.”

I looked up at him, confused. “What?” Seeing his face, I understood he meant the Fjerdan. “Oh. No. I don't. . . it's not about that. I just. . . .” I trailed off and shook my head, unwilling to explain, and took his hand. It was surprisingly strong. The Darkling helped me into the saddle, slid into place behind me, and kicked the horse into a trot. Riding at anything faster than a walk without the benefit of stirrups was not comfortable.

As we left the glen, he said, “You're shaking.”

“I've never killed anyone before. And I'm not used to people trying to kill _me._ ”

“Really? I hardly notice anymore.”

I turned to look at him. That trace of a smile was there, but I didn't think he was kidding.

“Well.” I said, turning back around. “Good to know what I have to look forward to. They didn't mention assassination attempts in the recruitment brochure.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm until the quaking stopped.

“Well done,” he said quietly.

I wondered if he meant me calming myself down, or something else.

“Someone will see to your shoulder as soon as we can stop.”

“What?” I looked down and saw the back of the kefta stuck to my shoulder, soaked with blood. “Oh.”

“You're not in shock. You didn't notice?”

“No, that's. . . this was from the Fold. It broke open when I was tackled.”

He didn't speak for a moment, and when he did, his tone managed to be unnerving under the calm. “You were to have been healed.”

“I know. I wouldn't let her.”

“Why?”

“. . . No good reason," I lied. "I had her disinfect and bandage it, same as my arm." That one I would have had her ignore even if she'd used her abilities to heal my shoulder. It was a reminder, like the knife I'd taken from the Fjerdan and the scar on my palm. "The arm got stitches, though. One of the guards you sent was kind enough to let me crush the bones of his hand while she worked," I said conversationally. ". . .His blood is smeared on the side of your coach, now,” I added in a hollow voice. I shook myself, banishing that line of thought. “It wasn't her fault, though,” I added hastily. “The Healer. That I said no. Ivan argued, but I told him if he wanted it done his way, he'd have to hold me down.”

“Were you afraid of her?”

I laughed and regretted it instantly at the twinge from my shoulder, which seemed anxious to make up for pain lost when I had been too distracted to feel it.

“So what did you do to him?” I asked to change the subject.

He let me, though he didn't answer right away. “It’s called the Cut. It’s something few Grisha can do; it requires great power and great focus.”

I nodded, fighting the urge to rub my arms against the chill that had taken hold of me.

Neither of us spoke after that, until the Darkling said, “You're shaking again.”

I made an annoyed sound at myself and closed my eyes to try to calm down again. The Darkling's arms shifted around me, and I jumped when I felt him slide his bare palm under my hair to rest it on the nape of my neck. In that instant of touch, before he hesitated and lifted his hand from my skin, I felt my confusion and lingering fear give way to calm as that same sense of power and surety flooded through me. He returned his hand, touch almost hesitant, and when I didn't argue, he pressed it fully to my neck. With one hand cupping my head, he kicked the horse into a canter. I closed my eyes, sighed deeply as tension slipped from my body, and found it was easy and welcome to think of nothing.

“Well done,” I mumbled wryly, repeating his words.

I thought I heard him chuckle.

“You can rest against me, if you'd like.”

I nodded absently, lost in the feeling of calm, but didn't move. I had less than no intent of leaning on him.

Some time later, half asleep and with his hand still on my neck, I found to my surprise that my back was flush against him, head resting on his shoulder. I was too tired to care, and drifted into an uneasy slumber.

 

* * * * *

 

When I woke, I was being handed down off the saddle into a pair of large arms. Only the faintest hints of daylight were still visible. I muttered blearily as I was set onto my feet and steadied by a rough pair of hands.

“Wake up, Starkov," Ivan rumbled. "I need to see to your shoulder.”

I glanced the Darkling behind him speaking to a small group of Grisha and soldiers, discussing camp, I assumed. We had stopped in a clearing amid a dense copse of trees.

I considered arguing, but only briefly. It might have felt good to deny the assistance when it had been offered in the coach, but what had happened today had made it clear that I wasn't in a world that had room for mulish stupidity. I nodded blearily, finding it difficult to wake fully, and turned around, slipping the kefta over my head as I did so, followed immediately by my shirt.

“Walk over to the tree line,” the large Heartrender snapped.

“Why?”

“You have your shirt off. You don't care?”

I rolled my eyes, moving to the shadows near the trees. “I've been in the army for eight years, Ivan. Any sense of modesty I had got trampled out of me a long time ago. You can either take the first chance you've had in a week to bathe in a river in front of twenty other people, or you can be shy and smell so bad they make you sleep outside in the cold.”

“You make a good recruitment poster.”

“It's the face, isn't it? Everyone always tells me I have a nice face.”

Ivan snorted. “You're Grisha. We all have nice faces.”

“Sunny disposition _and_ humility. Or did you just pay me an actual compliment? Ivan, do you think I'm pretty? I knew you couldn't fight this thing between us forever.”

“Stop moving,” he snapped. “I need to get this bandage off. The blood has dried; it's going to hurt.”

I sighed theatrically. “And a bedside manner as soft as a flower. Ok, Happy, it's decided. You may impregnate me with your children. I will bear them well.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Not really,” I lied. _“Ow!_ Saints, you want to at least _pretend_ to care whether or not you brutalize me? It's called soaking a dried bandage in hot water before you try to rip it off! Keep taking chunks of my flesh off and you'll be subjected to my witty banter for half the night while you clean up your mess.”

“Fortunately charm is not necessary to be good at what Ivan does,” a cool voice said from behind us.

I turned around to see the Darkling standing next to the Heartrender, whose face had reddened. Remembering my state of dress, I didn't argue when Ivan yanked me back around to face the trees, thankful that my flush would likely be hidden in the low light. I had a moment to be confused over the fact that the only other people I'd ever been embarrassed to have see me in a state of undress were commanding officers and Mal. Although I supposed he was now the highest of commanding officers over me, second only to the King.

“What's that,” I asked, “follow you around and kiss the earth as you pass? Sprinkle rose petals under your feet? Beat up anyone who makes fun of you?”

"Watch your tone," Ivan warned. For the first time since I'd met him, I genuinely felt a shiver of fear.

He was right, of course. No one spoke to the Darkling that way. My weariness and lingering resentment made me too careless.

“He's my second-in-command," the Darkling answered, sounding almost amused.

I gaped at the large man as he felt around my shoulder, assessing it in the fading light. Absently, I summoned a glow behind my back to help him see. “But you're so. . . and he's so. . . .” I trailed off. When no one said anything, I rambled on, feeling self-conscious. “Seems like a diverse job. All I've seen him do so far is babysit. Churlishly. A very _deadly_ churlish babysitter,” I hastened to add at the look on Ivan's face. “And virile. Very manly. Seriously, if I didn't know you couldn't kill me because I'm supposed to save the country, I'd have been cowering this whole time. In addition to the swooning. This has been a very confusing time for me, Happy. I hope you appreciate that.”

I turned away from the scowl on Ivan's face, grinning. “It's a good thing you're here,” I said to the Darkling. “I have a feeling if you weren't, I'd have a knife wound of mysterious origin for him to heal in addition to my souvenir from the Shadow Fo-" I stopped, my mouth closing up around the words as they brought that horrible morning flooding back. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“I wouldn't need a knife,” Ivan muttered darkly, too quiet for the Darkling to hear.

"Mm," I agreed weakly, my voice hollow. "It's always good to have a diverse skill set."

Ivan began passing his hand slowly over my back. I felt a hot, prickling sensation between my shoulders, and I hissed and bit down on my lip. I felt my skin throb with heat and and my shoulder began to itch furiously. I clenched my hands into fists. The urge to scratch was almost unbearable. As I watched in amazement, my flesh seemed to shimmer and move as the sides of the gashes knit together and the skin sealed shut. It was a long process, but eventually the itching stopped and I flexed my muscles. With the pain suddenly gone, I realized just how badly I had been hurting since the wounds had opened back up. I reached out and touched the the healed skin. There were scars, but they were so slight I doubted they'd be visible except in the right light.

“Thank you,” I said softly, meeting Ivan's eyes to make sure he knew I meant it. He nodded gruffly and walked away without a word. I huffed a laugh as I put my shirt back on. When I turned around, I found that the Darkling had left, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/12/16: Healing scene at the end of the chapter added  
> 12/25/16: Fight scene changed - Alina no longer burns the Fjerdans to ash. Felt it was too OP. And Merry Christmas!  
> 2/7/17: Tweaks to party banter in the carriage. Amended healing to give Alina's arm stitches. Made many of cosmetic changes.


	6. Hideous and Ostentatious

The next few days passed in a blur of discomfort and exhaustion. We stayed off of the Vy and kept to side roads and narrow hunting trails, moving as quickly as the hilly and sometimes dangerous terrain would allow. I lost all sense of where we were or how far we had gone.

After the first day, the Darkling and I had ridden separately, but I found that I was always aware of where he was in the column of riders. He didn’t say a word to me, and as the hours and days wore on, I started to worry that I’d somehow offended him. Though, given how little we’d spoken, I wasn’t sure how I could have managed it. Occasionally, I caught him looking at me, his eyes cool and unreadable.

I’d never been a particularly good rider, and the pace the Darkling set was taking its toll. No matter which way I shifted in my saddle, some part of my body ached. I stared listlessly at my horse’s twitching ears and used scratching its neck or rump as an excuse to lean and twist and stretch, and tried not to think of my burning legs or the throbbing in my lower back or the almost sharp ache in my backside. On the fifth night, when we stopped to make camp at an abandoned farm, I wanted to leap from my horse in joy. But I was so stiff that I settled for sliding awkwardly to the ground. I thanked the soldier who saw to my mount and waddled slowly down a small hill to where I could hear the soft gurgle of a stream.

I knelt by the bank on shaky legs and washed my face and hands and neck in the cold water. The air had changed over the last couple of days, and the bright blue skies of autumn were giving way to sullen gray. The soldiers seemed to think that we would reach Os Alta before any real weather came on. And then what? What would happen to me when we reached the Little Palace?

I wondered if Mal was still in Kribirsk. If he had been healed properly, he might already have been sent back across the Fold or on to some other assignment. I thought of his face disappearing into the crowd in the Grisha tent. I hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye. Was he mad at me?

In the gathering dusk, I stretched my arms and back and tried to shake the feeling of gloom that had settled over me. _It’s probably for the best,_ I told myself. How would I have said goodbye to Mal anyway? _Thanks for being my best friend and protecting me and making my life bearable. Oh, and sorry, I fell in love with you for a while there. Make sure to write!_

“What are you smiling at?”

I whirled, peering into the gloom. The Darkling’s voice seemed to float out of the shadows. He walked down to the stream, crouching on the bank to splash water on his face and through his dark hair.

“Well?” he asked, looking up at me.

“Myself,” I admitted.

“Are you that funny?”

“I’m hilarious.”

The Darkling regarded me in what remained of the twilight. I had the disquieting sensation that I was being studied. Other than a bit of dust on his kefta, our trek seemed to have taken little toll on him. My skin prickled with embarrassment as I became keenly aware of my torn, overlarge kefta, my filthy hair, and the bruises and scrapes the Fjerdan assassin had left on my face and neck. Was he looking at me and regretting the trouble he'd been through for me? Was he thinking that he’d made another of his infrequent mistakes?

“You know I'm going to disappoint you, right?”

“I doubt that,” he said with little concern. “What makes you think so?”

“I can't do what you want me to do. Save Ravka from the Fold? You don't know me; I do. I couldn't even save myself.” _From you,_ I didn't say. “Last time I was there, I let people die.”

He canted his head. “Why?”

I looked away and didn't answer. _Mal, that's why._ I didn't want him anywhere near Mal, not even the idea of him.

When I didn't answer, he said, “Wait until you've had training, Alina. You'll surprise yourself. I've seen what you can do. _Some_ of what you can do, I suspect.”

“If you say so,” I scoffed, uncomfortable with how close he was to the truth. Still, I knew children's tricks. Some of them could be impressive enough, sure, and useful, and I had blown wide with more power than I'd ever been able to summon before when the Darkling had called it forth in Kribirsk, but making a few soldiers and Grisha break into a sweat was hardly the same thing as banishing the Unsea.

He shook his head and rose. “You don’t understand at all,” he said, and began walking back up the hill.

“Are you going to explain it to me?”

“Not right now, no.”

I was so angry I wanted to throw a rock at him. And if I hadn’t seen him cut a man in half, I might have done just that. I settled for glaring at the back of his head as I followed him up the hill.

Inside the farm’s broken-down barn, the Darkling’s men had cleared a space on the earthen floor and built a fire. One of them had caught and killed a grouse and was roasting it over the flames. It made a poor meal shared among all of us, but the Darkling did not want to send his men ranging into the woods for game.

I took a place by the fire and ate my small portion in silence. When I’d finished, I hesitated for only a moment before wiping my fingers on my already filthy kefta with a resigned eye roll. It was the nicest thing I’d ever worn, and something about seeing the fabric stained and torn made me feel particularly low.

In the light from the fire, I watched the oprichniki sitting side by side with the Grisha. Some of them had already drifted away from the fire to bed down for the night. Others had been posted to the first watch - I'd offered to take a shift and had been almost laughed off. The rest sat talking as the flames ebbed, passing a flask back and forth. The Darkling sat with them.

Ivan was walking past me and I stood quickly to intercept him. Quietly, I asked, “is he always like that?” Nodding in the Darkling's direction.

He glanced at his commander, scoffed, and moved to walk away. I gripped his arm to stop him, and he turned a furious glare at my hand. I released my hold. “I'm ignorant, Ivan, ok? I get that. You've been plenty clear on it, and on your opinion of me.” He looked almost surprised. “If you want me to understand, to understand what you think I should already know, to understand what you think is important? This is how I do it. It's a simple question. He's second in power only to the king, but he didn't eat more than his share of the grouse. And now he's sitting on the cold, dirty ground next to his men and sharing drinks with them. Is he always like this?”

Ivan eyed me coldly before answering. “The Darkling is a good leader. The only thing he cares about is Ravka. And he is _nothing_ like the king.”

I met his stare without flinching. Then I nodded, and he moved on, though I noticed he turned his head to glower at me as he went. I sighed, resumed my seat by the fire, and went back to snatching glances at the Darkling.

He must have felt my gaze, because he turned to look at me, his granite eyes glimmering in the firelight. I quickly averted my eyes. To my dismay, he rose and came to sit beside me, offering me the flask. I hesitated and then took a long drink from it, suppressing the urge to cough. I hated kvas, but the teachers at Keramzin had drunk it like water. Mal and I had stolen a bottle once. The beating we’d taken when we were caught had been nothing compared to how miserably sick we’d been. On pure mulish instinct, I tipped it back again and finished its contents. It was a pathetic rebellion, but it was all I had. The worst of it would hit me after I'd bedded down for the night, so at the very least, I would sleep well. “Thanks,” I rasped as I handed it back.

I didn't turn to see the look on his face, but did notice that he stared at me for moment before turning to the fire. He screwed the cap back on the flask and set it aside. “All right," he said. "Ask me.”

I blinked at him, taken aback. “Ask you what?”

“Whatever you like.”

“That's awfully generous.”

“I've been known for it, from time to time.”

“I shall mark the date, then, and consider myself honored,” I said wryly.

I wasn’t sure where to begin. My tired mind had been brimming with questions, whirring in a state between resentment and anger and suspicion and fear since we’d left Kribirsk. I wasn’t sure that I had the energy to form the thoughts necessary to ask the things I really wanted to know. When I opened my mouth, the question that came out surprised me.

“How old are you?” I blurted.

He glanced at me, bemused. “I don’t know exactly.”

“How can you not know?”

The Darkling shrugged. “How old are you exactly?”

He had me there. “That's. . . my case is not normal.” All the orphans at Keramzin were given the Duke's birthday in honor of our benefactor.

He gave me a look that clearly said _and you expect that mine is?_

I rolled my eyes and flashed him a sour look. “Then _roughly_ how old are you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I thought that age sensitivity was supposed to be the purview of my gender.”

When he gave no indication of replying, I said honestly, “I’ve heard stories about you since I was a child, but you don’t look much older than I am.”

“What kind of stories?”

“The usual kind,” I said evasively. “You know if you don't want to tell me, you just have to say so.”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Oh.” I said, nonplussed.

Then he sighed and said, “One hundred and twenty. Give or take.”

I gaped at him, mouth open. “What?” I squawked. The soldiers sitting across from me glanced over, and I quickly schooled my appearance. “That... _how?”_ I said more quietly.

He looked into the flames. “When a fire burns, it uses up the wood. It devours it, leaving only ash. Grisha power doesn’t work that way. Using our power makes us stronger. It feeds us instead of consuming us. Most Grisha live long lives.”

I had always noticed that using my powers made me feel more, well, strong. Invigorated, alive. I was glad to know it was normal for a Grisha. "But not one hundred and twenty years, surely.”

“No,” he admitted. “The length of a Grisha’s life is proportional to his or her power. The greater the power, the longer the life. And when that power is amplified. . . .” He trailed off with a shrug.

“And you’re a living amplifier,” I said numbly. “Like Ivan’s bear.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Like Ivan’s bear.”

An unpleasant thought occurred to me. “But. . . if you're an amplifier, doesn't that mean—”

“That my bones or a few of my teeth would make another Grisha very powerful.”

“Doesn’t it. . . worry you?”

“No,” he said simply. “Now you answer my question. What kind of stories were you told about me?”

“You're over a century old. Tell me there's a single one you haven't heard.”

“I want to know which ones _you've_ heard.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Just. . . remember you asked.” I opted to start with something benign. “Our teachers told us that you strengthened the Second Army by gathering Grisha from outside of Ravka.”

“I didn’t have to gather them. They came to me. Other countries don’t treat their Grisha so well as Ravka,” he said grimly. “The Fjerdans burn us as witches, and the Kerch sell us as slaves. The Shu Han carve us up seeking the source of our power. What else?”

“They said you were the strongest Darkling in generations.”

“I didn’t ask you for flattery.”

“You didn't ask me to leave out the good stories, either,” I replied, flinty.

I fingered a loose thread on the cuff of my kefta. He watched me, waiting.

"There was an old serf who worked on the estate. . . .”

“Go on,” he said. “Tell me.”

“. . .He said that Darklings are born without souls. That only something evil could have created the Shadow Fold.” I glanced at his cold face and added hastily, “Ana Kuya sent him packing and told us it was peasant superstition. But people don't like Grisha. They're afraid of you. Us,” I corrected. “And the Darklings. . . .” I shrugged. As far as most people were concerned, the Darklings were as far removed from Grisha as Grisha were from everyone else.

The Darkling sighed. “I doubt that serf is the only one who believes that.”

I said nothing. Not everyone thought like Eva or the old serf, but I’d been in the First Army long enough to know that most ordinary soldiers didn’t trust Grisha and felt no allegiance to the Darkling.

After a moment, the Darkling said, “My great-great-great-grandfather was the Black Heretic, the Darkling who created the Shadow Fold. It was a mistake, an experiment born of his greed, maybe his evil. I don’t know. But every Darkling since then has tried to undo the damage he did to our country, and I’m no different.” He turned to me then, his expression serious, the firelight playing over the perfect planes of his features. “I’ve spent my life searching for a way to make things right. You’re the first glimmer of hope I’ve had in a long time.”

I felt a flush creep over my skin.

“The world is changing, Alina. Muskets and rifles are just the beginning. I’ve seen the weapons they’re developing in Kerch and Fjerda. The age of Grisha power is coming to an end.”

It was a deeply unsettling thought. “But. . . what about the First Army? They have rifles. They have weapons.”

“Where do you think their rifles come from? Their ammunition? Every time we cross the Fold, we lose lives. A divided Ravka won’t survive the new age. We need our ports. We need our harbors. And only you can give them back to us.”

I suddenly found it hard to breathe. I shook my head. “No. Ivan. . .” I had just had this conversation with the Heartrender a few days ago. “I can't do anything like that. I couldn't even summon light at night until I was almost twenty. What am I supposed to do against a place where there _is_ no light?”

“All you need to do right now is trust me. I'll take care of the rest.”

I looked at him like he was mad, and suddenly I was furious. “Trust you? You just took me away from everything I ever cared about! You. . . you cut a man in half!”

He glanced at me and then back to the fire. “If I had cut him down with a sword, would that make it any better?”

I snorted. “It would have made it messier and a hell of a lot less creepy. . . . But I can't really talk,” I said, all the anger going out of me as suddenly as it had come. I rubbed my arms, trying to banish the chill that had taken hold of me. “You left two pieces of a person back there. I set four on fire. For all I know, they burned to death before someone could shoot them.”

“. . .Your first?"

I nodded, my eyes far away.

"I know you won't want to hear this, Alina, but it gets easier. People like you and I, when we have to, take lives for the right reasons. We protect, we work toward a greater cause. And you're brave, that much I've already seen. You wouldn't have insisted on facing the body otherwise. You wouldn't have taken his blade.”

I scoffed. “Self preservation isn't brave. It's just self preservation.”

“Most people don't have the head for it.”

“Most people are idiots.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up briefly.

I looked up through the broken beams of the barn’s roof to the night sky. It was full of stars, but I could only see the endless reaches of darkness between them. I imagined myself standing in the dead silence of the Shadow Fold, blind, frightened, with nothing to protect me but the power I had fought to deny. I thought of the Black Heretic. He had created the Fold, a Darkling, just like the one who sat watching me so closely in the firelight.

I closed my eyes and pulled the light to me – the warmth from the fire, cool illumination from the stars, needing to feel that I wasn't overrun by all the darkness that had permeated the last few days, that I wasn't completely saturated in it. Calling it surrounded by other people was surreal. I felt the light suffuse me, bringing me to life and calling me back to myself and, despite everything, felt a small smile curl my lips. I used to do this at Keramzin on the worst days. After a bad punishment, or when Mal was gone on an especially long hunting trip, I would go to our meadow and bathe myself in light until everything else fell away, until I felt fresh and renewed.

I opened my eyes and found every face in the barn staring at me. Some had even twisted on their bedrolls to gawk over their shoulders. I released the light instantly and ducked my head.

After a long moment, the Darkling said quietly, “You don't have to do that anymore, Alina.”

“Do what?” I was impressed with how steady my voice was.

“Hide.”

My stomach and heart tumbled end over end. I smiled at him tightly. “I. . . should get some rest. Riding is a lot more tiring than I ever figured it would be. Explains why Raevsky was always in such a bad mood after a long march. Excuse me.”

I stood up without another word, refusing to even glance toward him again, and moved to lay out my bedroll against a far wall, well out of the circle of firelight.

 

* * * * *

 

Two days later, just after dawn, we passed through a massive gate and the famous double walls of Os Alta.

Mal and I had taken our training not far from here, in the military stronghold at Poliznaya, but we had never been inside the city itself. Os Alta was reserved for the very wealthy, for the homes of military and government officials, their families, their mistresses, and all the businesses that catered to them.

I felt a twinge of disappointment as we passed shuttered shops, a wide marketplace where a few vendors were already setting up their stalls, and crowded rows of narrow houses. Os Alta was called the dream city. It was the capital of Ravka, home to the Grisha and the King’s Grand Palace. But if anything, it just looked like a bigger, dirtier version of the market town at Keramzin.

That changed when we reached the bridge. It spanned a wide canal where little boats bobbed in the water beneath it. On the other side, rising from the mist, white and gleaming, lay the other Os Alta. As we crossed the bridge, I saw that it could be raised to turn the canal into a giant moat that would separate the dream city before us from the common mess of the market town that lay behind.

When we reached the other side of the canal, it was as if we had passed into another world. Everywhere I looked, I saw fountains and plazas, verdant parks, and broad boulevards lined with perfect rows of trees. Here and there, I saw lights on in the lower stories of the grand houses, where kitchen fires were being lit and the day’s work was starting.

The streets began to slope upward, and as we climbed higher, the houses became larger and more imposing, until finally we arrived at another wall and another set of gates, these wrought in gleaming gold and emblazoned with the King’s double eagle. Along the wall, I could see heavily armed men at their posts, a grim reminder that for all its beauty, Os Alta was still the capital of a country that had long been at war.

The gate swung open.

We rode up a broad path paved in glittering gravel and bordered by rows of elegant trees. To the left and right, stretching into the distance, I saw manicured gardens, rich with green and hazy in the mist of early morning. Above it all, atop a series of marble terraces and golden fountains, loomed the Grand Palace, the Ravkan King’s winter home.

When we finally reached the huge double-eagle fountain at its base, the Darkling brought his horse up beside mine.

“So what do you think of it?” he asked.

I glanced at him, then back at the elaborate facade. It was larger than any building I had ever seen, its terraces crowded with statues, its three stories gleaming with row after row of shining windows, each ornamented extensively in what I suspected was real gold.

“. . .Would you like me to be polite, or honest?”

“I always want you to be honest with me, Alina. In time I hope you won't need to ask."

For what felt like the dozenth time in less than a week, I blushed. I looked back toward the palace to hide it.

“It's like they wanted to cover every spare brick with something gaudy and ostentatious. It's hideous,” I finished in a whisper, afraid of being overheard.

He laughed then, a real laugh, and it was so startling that I froze. It lit up his whole face and made him look beautiful, and almost human. I noticed that the complement of men and women around us were all staring at him, some in shock, others in confusion. Even Ivan looked taken aback.

The Darkling looked at me, a little smile playing on his lips. “I hope you'll find the Little Palace more to your taste,” he said, and nudged his horse forward. Struck dumb, I followed.

We rode along a path that curved behind the palace and deeper into the grounds, passing a hedge maze, a rolling lawn with a columned temple at its center, and a vast greenhouse, its windows clouded with condensation. Then we entered a thick stand of trees, large enough that it felt like a small wood, and passed through a long, dark corridor where the branches made a dense, braided roof above us.

The hair rose on my arms. I had the same feeling that I’d had as we were crossing the canal, that sense of crossing the boundary between two worlds.

When we emerged from the tunnel into weak sunshine, I looked down a gentle slope and saw a building like nothing I’d ever seen.

“Welcome to the Little Palace,” said the Darkling.

It was a strange name, because though it was smaller than the Grand Palace, the “Little” Palace was still huge. It rose from the trees surrounding it like something carved from an enchanted forest, a cluster of dark wood walls and golden domes. As we drew closer, I saw that every inch of it was covered in intricate carvings of birds and flowers, twisting vines, and magical beasts.

A charcoal-clad group of servants waited on the steps. I dismounted, and one of them rushed forward to take my horse, while others pushed open a large set of double doors. As we passed through them, I couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch the exquisite carvings. They had been inlaid with mother-of-pearl so that they sparkled in the early-morning light. How many hands, how many years had it taken to create such a place?

We passed through an entry chamber and then into a vast hexagonal room with four long tables arranged in a square at its center. Our footsteps echoed off the stone floor, and a massive gold dome seemed to float above us at an impossible height.

The Darkling took aside one of the servants, an older woman in a charcoal dress, and spoke to her in hushed tones. Then he gave me a small bow and strode off across the hall, followed by his men.

I felt a surge of annoyance. The Darkling had said little to me since that night in the barn, and he’d given me no idea what I might expect once we arrived. But I didn’t have the nerve or the energy to run after him, so I churlishly followed the woman in gray through another pair of double doors and into one of the smaller towers.

When I saw all the stairs, I almost broke down and wept. _Maybe I’ll just ask if I can stay down here in the middle of the hall,_ I thought miserably. Instead, I put my hand on the carved banister and dragged myself upward, my stiff body protesting every step. When we reached the top, I felt like celebrating by lying down and taking a nap, but the servant was already moving down the hallway. I groaned and followed. We passed door after door, until finally we reached a chamber where another uniformed maid stood waiting by an open doorway.

Dimly, I registered a large room, heavy golden curtains, a fire burning in a beautifully tiled grate, but all I really cared about was the huge canopied bed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to eat?” asked the woman.

I shook my head. “No. Thank you.” I just wanted sleep.

“Very good,” she said, and nodded to the maid, who curtsied and disappeared down the hall. “Then I’ll let you rest. Make sure to lock your door.”

I blinked.

“As a precaution,” said the woman and left, closing the door gently behind her.

 _In this place? A precaution against what?_ I wondered. But I was too tired to think about it. I locked the door, peeled off the kefta and my boots, and fell into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~If the Darkling is seeming a little too... _nice?_ Like OOC nice?~~  
>     
>  ~~Give it time.~~
> 
> 10/12/16: Back-edited. Alina's face is no longer flush-proof.  
> 11/10/16: Back-edited. Alina now finishes off the flask, which was actually what I wanted in the first place. Yay!


	7. The Tailor

I woke to someone pounding on the door. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was. When I did, I groaned and flopped back onto the pillows.

“Go away,” I mumbled from beneath the covers. But the pounding only grew louder. I sat up, feeling my whole body shriek in rebellion. My head ached, and when I tried to stand, my legs did not want to cooperate.

“All right!” I shouted. “Saints! I’m coming!” The knocking stopped. I stumbled over to the door and reached for the lock, but then I hesitated. “Who is it?”

“I don’t have time for this,” a female voice snapped from behind the door. “Open. Now!”

I shrugged. Let them kill me or kidnap me or whatever they wanted. As long as I didn’t have to ride a horse or climb stairs, I wouldn’t complain.

I had barely unlocked the door when it flew open and a tall young woman pushed past me, surveying the room and then me with a critical eye. She was easily the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. Her wavy hair was deepest auburn, her irises large and golden; her skin was so smooth and flawless that she looked as if her perfect cheekbones had been carved from marble. She wore a cream-colored kefta embroidered in gold and lined in reddish fox fur.

“All Saints,” she said, looking me over. “Have you even bathed? And what happened to your face?”

I flushed bright red. It had been nearly a week since I’d left camp, and longer since I’d bathed or brushed my hair. I was covered in dirt and blood and the smell of horses. I could only imagine her reaction if I'd still been wearing the battered red kefta. “I've been on the road for a week. When someone put a bed in front of me, I prioritized exhaustion over hygiene, and to your second question, two score of Fjerdan assassins who wanted to kill me,” I finished drily." 

The girl was already shouting orders to the servants who had followed her into the room. “Draw a bath. A hot one. I’ll need my kit, and get her out of those clothes.”

The servants descended upon me, pulling at my buttons.

“Hey!” I shouted, batting their hands away.

The Grisha rolled her eyes. “Hold her down if you have to.”

The servants redoubled their efforts.

“Stop!” I shouted, shoving them away. I eyed one of the more persistent ones and said “touch me again and I'll break your hands.” I wouldn't, of course, but they didn't need to know that. 

They hesitated, looking from me to the girl.

Honestly, nothing sounded better than a hot bath and a change of clothes, but I wasn’t about to let some tyrannical redhead push me around. “Who are you?”

“I don’t have ti—”

“Make time!” I snapped. “I’ve lived through a volcra attack, been ripped away from everything I ever cared about, and covered almost two hundred miles on horseback. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep or a decent meal in a week, I killed four men, had one sliced in half on top of me, and have nearly been killed twice. So if you want me to do anything but hit people or throw furniture, you’re going to tell me who you are and why it’s so Saints-blasted important that you get my clothes off!”

The redhead took a deep breath and said slowly, as if she were speaking to a child, “My name is Genya. In less than an hour, you will be presented to the King and it is my job to make you look presentable.”

My anger evaporated and I paled. “. . .Oh."

“Yes, ‘oh.’ So, shall we?”

I nodded mutely, and Genya clapped her hands. The servants flew into action, yanking at my clothes and dragging me into the bathroom. This morning I’d been too tired to notice the room, but now, even shivering and scared nearly witless at the prospect of having to meet Ravka's king, I marveled at the tiny bronze tiles that rippled over every surface and the sunken oval tub of beaten copper that the servants were filling with steaming water. Beside the tub, the wall was covered in a mosaic of shells and shimmering abalone.

“In! Get in!” said one of the servants, giving me a nudge.

I climbed in. The water was painfully hot, but I endured it rather than try to ease in slowly. I may not be as modest as a lady should be, but there was still something very different about being the only naked person in the room, especially when everyone kept shooting curious glances at me.

I squeaked as one of the servants grabbed my head and began furiously washing my hair. Another leaned over the tub and started scrubbing at my nails.

Once I adjusted to it, the heat of the water felt good on my aching body. I hadn’t had a hot bath in well over two years, and I had never even dreamed that there might be such a tub as this. Clearly, being Grisha had its benefits. I could have spent an hour just paddling around. But once I had been thoroughly dunked and scrubbed, a servant yanked my arm and ordered, “Out! Get out!”

I climbed from the tub, letting the women dry me roughly with thick towels, cursing at them under my breath while grateful for their help at the same time. One of the younger servants stepped forward with a heavy velvet robe and led me into the bedroom. Then she and the others backed out the door, leaving me alone with Genya.

I watched the redhead warily. She had thrown open the curtains and pulled an elaborately carved wooden table and chair over by the windows.

“Sit,” she commanded. I bridled at her tone, but obeyed.

A small trunk lay open by her hand, its contents spread out on the tabletop: squat glass jars full of what looked like berries, leaves, and colored powders. I didn’t have a chance to investigate further, because Genya took hold of my chin, peering closely at my face and turning my bruised cheek toward the light from the window. She took a breath and let her fingers travel over my skin. I felt the same prickling sensation I’d experienced when the Healer took care of my wounds from the Fold. Once she finished with my cheek, she moved to the nearly-healed light bruising on my neck.

Long minutes passed as I fought to keep from scratching. Then Genya stepped back and the itching receded. She handed me a small golden hand mirror. The bruises were completely gone. I pressed the skin tentatively, but there was no soreness.

“Thank you,” I said begrudgingly, setting the mirror down and starting to stand. But Genya pushed me right back down into the chair.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done.”

“But—”

“If the Darkling just wanted you healed, he would have sent a Healer.”

“You’re not a Healer?”

“I’m not wearing red, am I?” Genya retorted, an edge of bitterness to her voice. She gestured to herself. “I’m a Tailor.”

I was baffled. I realized I’d never seen a Grisha in a white kefta. “You’re going to make me a dress?” I asked, nonplussed.

Genya blew out an exasperated breath. “Not the robes! This,” she said, waving her long, graceful fingers before her face. “You don’t think I was born looking like this, do you?”

I stared at the smooth marble perfection of Genya’s features as realization set in and, with it, a wave of indignation. “You want to change my face?”

“Not change it. Just. . . tone you down a bit.”

I was relieved and flattered and taken aback at the same time. I crossed my arms and looked out the window. Outside, the sun was shining off a small lake, a tiny island at its center. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d slept.

“Why?” I asked, wary.

“Because the King loves beauty. In his court, appearances are everything. You're Grisha: you look the part of the salvation of all Ravka, as you should. But you don’t want to attract too much attention from him, and the Darkling knows that.” Her voice was light, but I saw a shadow pass over her features. “He doesn't care what you look like, just what you can do. But the King is different.”

I nodded my permission without another thought. I had known exactly that type of man before, people who thought that power gave them the right to do anything they wanted, especially to beautiful young women. Mal had nearly been discharged over it once.

“Thank you!” exclaimed Genya, clapping her hands together. _She’s relieved,_ I realized. The Darkling had set Genya a task, and I wondered what might have happened to her if I’d refused. I thought again of the Healer in the coach as I let her lead me back to the chair.

“They'll only be small changes,” Genya said as she sat me down. “I can't make big ones, and they'll be temporary.”

I smiled, relieved, and closed my eyes.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You can watch.” She handed me the gold mirror. “But no more talk. And stay still.”

I held up the mirror and watched as Genya’s cool fingertips descended slowly over my forehead. My skin prickled, and I watched with growing amazement as her hands traveled over my face. Subtle blemishes appeared. My skin tone grew slightly less even, and the hollows of my cheeks pulled inward, though just barely. “Now the hair.” She plucked a long comb made off bone from her trunk along with a glass jar full of what looked like dry soil. She lifted a chunk of my brown hair and shook some of the soil onto the crown of my head and, as she pulled the comb through my hair, the earth seemed to dissolve into the strands, dulling their color and shine. As Genya finished with each section, she wound it around her fingers, letting the hair fall in waves.

Finally she stepped back, wearing a smug smile. “Have a look.”

I examined myself in the mirror. I was still pretty, but less so. The work was so subtle, it would have been hard to point out what she'd done if I hadn't been watching. I still looked like myself, but as if I needed sleep and a few good meals. It was as if she'd combined the person I was with the sickly girl I'd been before I'd discovered my powers. I wondered what Mal would think if he saw me, then shoved the thought away. “You, madam, are dangerous,” I said with appreciation.

"It's good to be appreciated." She winked at me and smiled as she strode across the room and opened the door to let the servants rush back in.

They pushed me behind an ebony screen inlaid with mother-of-pearl stars so that it resembled a night sky. In a few moments, I was dressed in a clean tunic and trousers, soft leather boots, and a gray coat. With disappointment, I realized it was just a clean version of my army uniform. There was even a little cartographer’s patch showing a compass rose on the right sleeve. My feelings must have shown on my face.

“Not what you expected?” Genya asked with some amusement.

“I just thought. . . .”

“The King expects to see a humble girl plucked from the ranks of his army, an undiscovered treasure. If you appear in a kefta, he’ll think the Darkling’s been hiding you.”

“. . .Ah.”

Genya shrugged. “The King is. . . well, you’ll see what the King is.”

My stomach turned nervously. I tried to steady myself, but as Genya hurried me out the door and down the hall, my legs felt leaden and shaky, beyond their exhaustion from the past week.

Near the bottom of the stairs, she whispered, “If anyone asks, I just helped you get dressed. I’m not supposed to work on Grisha.”

“Why not?”

“Because the ridiculous Queen and her more ridiculous court think it’s not fair.”

I gaped at her. Insulting the Queen could be considered treason, but Genya seemed unconcerned.

When we entered the huge domed hall, it was crowded with Grisha in robes of crimson, deep purple, and darkest blue. Most of them looked to be younger than me, but several were my age, and a few older Grisha were gathered in a corner. Despite the silver in their hair and their lined faces, they were strikingly attractive. In fact, everyone in the room was unnervingly good-looking.

“The Queen may have a point,” I murmured.

“Oh, this isn’t my handiwork,” said Genya.

“I assumed. I've just never seen so many Grisha in one place. All I've ever caught is a glimpse of one or two, to be honest.”

“Besides the face in the mirror?”

“Uh. . . .” I supposed so, but I'd never allowed myself to think of myself as Grisha. I'd just been Alina.

Someone had seen us enter the hall, and a hush fell as every eye in the room fastened onto me.

A tall, broad-chested Grisha in red robes came forward. He had deeply tanned skin and seemed to exude good health. He made a low bow and said, “I am Sergei Beznikov.”

“Hello, Sergei. I’m—”

“I know who you are, of course,” Sergei interrupted, his white teeth flashing. “Come, let me introduce you. You’ll be walking with us.” He took me by the elbow and began to steer me toward a group of Corporalki. I nearly balked at his presumptive treatment.

“She’s a Summoner, Sergei,” said a girl in a blue kefta with flowing brown curls. “She walks with us.” There were murmurs of assent from the other Etherealki behind her.

“Marie,” said Sergei with an insincere smile, “you can’t possibly be suggesting that she enter the hall as a lower-order Grisha.”

Marie’s alabaster skin went suddenly blotchy, and several of the Summoners got to their feet. “Need I remind you that the Darkling is himself a Summoner?”

“So you’re ranking yourself with the Darkling now?”

Marie sputtered.

“Why don’t I just go with Genya, if I don't fit anywhere else?”

There were a few low snickers.

“With the Tailor?” Sergei asked, looking aghast.

I bristled, but Genya simply smiled and shook her head.

“She belongs with us,” protested Marie, and argument broke out all around us.

I held up my hands and opened my mouth to try to make peace.

“She’ll walk with me,” said a low voice, and the room went silent.


	8. The Life of A Courtier

I turned and saw the Darkling standing in an archway, flanked by Ivan and several other Grisha whom I recognized from the journey. Marie and Sergei backed away hastily. The Darkling surveyed the crowd and said, “We are expected.”

Instantly, the room bustled with activity as the Grisha rose and began to file through the large double doors that led outside. They arranged themselves two abreast in a long line. First the Materialki, then the Etherealki, and finally the Corporalki, so that the highest-ranked Grisha would enter the throne room last.

Unsure of what to do, I stayed where I was, watching the crowd. I looked around for Genya, but she seemed to have disappeared. A moment later, the Darkling was beside me. I glanced up at his pale profile, the sharp jaw, the granite eyes.

“You look well rested,” he said.

I gave him a dry look. “The Darkling has a sense of humor. Ravka's enemies must never know.”

A slight smile played at his lips as he stared forward.

“Are there other Tailors?” I asked.

“Genya is unique,” he answered, glancing at me. “Like us.”

I ignored the little stirring that went through me at the word _us_ and said, “Why isn’t she walking with the rest of the Grisha?”

“She must attend to the Queen.”

“Why?”

“When Genya’s abilities began to show themselves, I could have had her choose between becoming a Fabrikator or a Corporalnik. Instead, I cultivated her particular affinity and made a gift of her to the Queen.”

“A gift? So a Grisha is no better than a serf?”

“We all serve someone,” he said, and I was surprised by the harsh edge in his voice. Then he added, “The King will expect a demonstration. Perhaps not quite so much as you showed in Kribursk, however. Can you do that?”

I nodded, ignoring the way he was watching me curiously.

“On my signal, then,” he said finally, turning to face forward as the last of the red-robed Corporalki disappeared through the door.

“As you say.”

We emerged onto the gravel path and into the last of the afternoon sunshine. I was finding it hard to breathe. I felt as if I were walking to my execution. _Maybe I am,_ I thought with a surge of dread. The Darkling may want me alive, but if the King decided he didn't, no one could stay his hand, future salvation of Ravka or no.

I tried to calm myself and to slow the beating of my heart but, before I knew it, we had made our way through the grounds and were climbing the white marble steps to the Grand Palace. As we moved through a spacious entry hall into a long corridor lined with mirrors and ornamented in gold, I thought how different this place was from the Little Palace. Everywhere I looked, I saw marble and gold, soaring walls of white and palest blue, gleaming chandeliers, liveried footmen, polished parquet floors laid out in elaborate geometric designs. It wasn’t without beauty, but there was something exhausting about the extravagance of it all. I’d always assumed that Ravka’s hungry peasants and poorly supplied soldiers were the result of the Shadow Fold. But as we walked by a tree of jade embellished with diamond leaves, I wasn’t so sure.

The throne room was three stories high, every window sparkling with gold double eagles. A long, pale blue carpet ran the length of the room to where the members of the court milled about a raised throne. Many of the men wore military dress, black trousers and white coats laden with medals and ribbons. The women sparkled in gowns of liquid silk with little puffed sleeves and low necklines. Flanking the carpeted aisle, the Grisha stood arranged in their separate orders.

A hush fell as every face turned to me and the Darkling. I swallowed heavily. We walked slowly toward the golden throne. As we drew closer, the King sat up straighter, tense with excitement. He looked to be in his forties, slender and round-shouldered with big watery eyes and a pale mustache. He wore full military dress, a thin sword at his side, his narrow chest covered with medals. Beside him on the raised dais stood a man with a long, dark beard. He wore priest’s robes, but a gold double eagle was emblazoned on his chest.

The Darkling gave my arm a gentle squeeze to warn me that we were stopping.

“Your highness, moi tsar,” he said in clear tones. “Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner.” A rush of murmurs came from the crowd. I wasn’t sure if I should bow or curtsy. Ana Kuya had insisted that all the orphans know how to greet the Duke’s few noble guests, but somehow, it didn’t feel right to curtsy in army-issue trousers. 

The King saved me from making a blunder when he waved us forward impatiently. “Come, come! Bring her to me.”

The Darkling and I walked to the base of the dais.

The King scrutinized me. He frowned, and his lower lip jutted out slightly. “She's very plain for a Grisha.”

I flushed and clenched my teeth. The King wasn’t much to look at either. He was practically chinless, and close up, I could see the broken blood vessels in his nose.

“Show me,” the King commanded.

A felt a flutter of excitement in my stomach and had to suppress a smile. After all the years of hiding what I was, I was now being _asked_ to show it off, and my heart beat with jubilance and fear. I looked at the Darkling. He spread his arms wide. A tense silence descended as his hands filled with dark, swirling ribbons of blackness that bled into the air. He brought his hands together with a resounding crack. Nervous cries burst from the crowd as darkness blanketed the room.

This time, I was better prepared for the dark that engulfed me, but it was still frightening. Instinctively, I reached forward, searching for something to hold on to. The Darkling caught my arm and his bare hand slid into mine. I felt that same powerful certainty wash through me and then the Darkling’s call, pure and compelling, demanding an answer. My power rose up inside of me and light, bright but not blinding, surged outward to fill the entire throne room, drenching us in warmth and shattering the darkness like black glass. The court erupted into applause. People were weeping and hugging one another. A woman fainted. The King was clapping the loudest, rising from his throne and applauding furiously, his expression exultant. I let go of the Darkling's hand and the light faded, twinkling sparks drifting down like the dying trails of fireworks.

“Brilliant!” the King shouted. “A miracle!” He descended the steps of the dais, the bearded priest gliding silently behind him, and took my hand in his own, raising it to his wet lips. “My dear girl,” he said. “My dear, dear girl.” I felt my skin crawl, but I didn’t dare pull my hand away. Soon, though, he had relinquished me and was clapping the Darkling on the back.

“Miraculous, simply miraculous,” he effused. “Come, we must make plans immediately.”

As the King and the Darkling stepped away to talk, the priest drifted forward. “A miracle indeed,” he said, staring at me with a disturbing intensity. His eyes were so brown they were almost black, and he smelled faintly of mildew and incense. Like a tomb, I thought with a shiver. I was grateful when he slithered away to join the King.

I was quickly surrounded by beautifully dressed men and women, all wishing to make my acquaintance and to touch my hand or my sleeve. They crowded on every side of me, jostling and pushing to get closer. Just as I felt fresh panic setting in - it wasn't as if I could kick a noble - Genya appeared by my side. But my relief was short-lived.

“The Queen wants to meet you,” she murmured into my ear. She steered me through the crowd and out a narrow side door into the hall, then into a jewel-like sitting room where the Queen reclined on a divan, a snuffling dog with a pushed-in face cradled on her lap.

The Queen was beautiful, with glossy blond hair in a perfect coiffure, her delicate features cold and lovely. But there was also something a little odd about her face. Her irises seemed a little too blue, her hair too yellow, her skin too smooth. I wondered just how much work Genya had done on her.

She was surrounded by ladies in exquisite gowns of petal pink and soft blue, their low necklines embroidered with gilded thread and tiny riverpearls. And yet, they all paled beside Genya in her simple cream wool kefta, her bright red hair burning like a flame.

“Moya tsaritsa,” Genya said, sinking into a low, graceful curtsy. “The Sun Summoner.”

This time, I had to make a choice. I executed a small bow and heard a few low titters from the ladies.

“Charming,” said the Queen. “I loathe pretense.” It took all my willpower not to snort at this. “You are from a Grisha family?” she asked.

I glanced nervously at Genya, who nodded encouragement.

“No, moya tsaritsa.”

“A peasant then?”

I nodded.

“We are so lucky in our people,” the Queen said, and the ladies murmured soft assent. “Your family must be notified of your new status. Genya will send a messenger.”

Genya nodded and gave another little curtsy. I thought about just nodding right along with her, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to start lying to royalty.

“I am grateful for your majesty's kindness, but I have no family to notify.”

“They have passed away? Casualties of the war, perhaps?” asked the Queen.

I was suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn't as if I had intended to keep my start in life a secret, more that it didn't feel like anyone else's business. Had it been another soldier rather than the tsaritsa, I could have simply said so.

Slowly, I said, “Actually, your highness, I was raised in Duke Keramsov’s household.”

The ladies buzzed in surprise, and even Genya looked curious.

“An orphan!” exclaimed the Queen, sounding delighted. “How marvelous!”

It was all I could do to keep a dirty look off my face. “Marvelous” was not a word I would use to describe the fact that my parents were long dead. Stiffly, I replied, “thank you, moya tsaritsa.”

“This all must seem so very strange to you. Take care that life at court does not corrupt you the way it has others,” she said, her blue marble eyes sliding to Genya. The insult was unmistakable, but Genya’s expression betrayed nothing, a fact which did not seem to please the Queen. She dismissed us with a flick of her ring-laden fingers. “Go now.”

As Genya led me back into the hallway, I thought I heard her mutter, “Old cow.” But before I could decide whether or not to ask her about what the Queen had said, the Darkling was there, steering us down an empty corridor.

“How did you fare with the Queen?” he asked.

I took a moment to pick my words. “She was kind, and everything she said was perfectly nice. But she looked at me the whole time as if I were something her dog had spit up.”

Genya laughed, and the Darkling’s lips quirked in what was nearly a smile.

“Welcome to court,” he said.

“I can see why everyone climbs over themselves to get here.”

His lips twitched.

“The King seemed pleased, at least,” I offered.

“The King is a child.”

My mouth fell open and I looked around nervously, afraid someone had overheard. These people seemed to speak treason as easily as breathing. Genya didn’t look remotely disturbed by the Darkling’s words.

The Darkling must have noticed my discomfort, because he said, “But today, you’ve made him a very happy child.”

“Who was that bearded man with him?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

“The Apparat?”

“Is he a priest?”

“Of a sort. Some say he’s a fanatic. Others say he’s a fraud.”

“And you?”

“I say he has his uses.” The Darkling turned to Genya. “I think we’ve asked enough of Alina for today,” he said. “Take her back to her chambers and have her fitted for her kefta. She will start instruction tomorrow.”

Genya gave a little bow and laid her hand on my arm to lead me away. I was overcome by excitement and relief. I’d made it through my introduction to the King and my audience with the Queen. And I was going to be given a Grisha’s kefta. Being here, I felt as though I were stepping into a role I'd been waiting most of my life to occupy, as if everything before now had been preamble. Almost immediately, I was hit by a pang of guilt when the piece of my heart that Mal occupied clenched uncomfortably. 

“Genya,” the Darkling called after us, “the kefta will be black.”

Genya drew a startled breath. I looked at her stunned face and then at the Darkling, who was already turning to go.

“Why?” I asked, somber.

The Darkling halted and turned those slate-colored eyes on me. He said nothing, clearly waiting for me to elaborate.

“No one has ever worn black but the Darklings. Why would you put me in your color?”

He looked at me for a long moment. I wasn't sure if he was debating whether to answer, or looking for something.

“Every Darkling since the Black Heretic has been waiting for you, Alina. I want the world to know where you belong.” A small thrill went through me. “What other color would you wear?” He asked as though the answer were obvious.

“I'm a summoner.” I shrugged. “What about Blue?” 

“Alina!” exclaimed Genya, clearly horrified.

But the Darkling held up a hand to silence her. “Would you prefer blue?” he asked, his expression unreadable. 

“I didn't say that.” 

I suddenly felt like we were talking about much more than a color. It was true, this could be about raising me up, or presenting a united front. But the Darkling obviously wasn't a stupid man. Putting me in his color could just as easily be about laying a claim to someone who would – I nearly paled at the thought – become a powerful figure in Ravka, if all went to plan. A Grisha able to banish the Fold would be no small thing. Then again, he was powerful in his own right, and had been since before I was born. Maybe this _was_ just about me. 

“But that doesn't mean that I don't want to understand." I went on. "This is no small thing. It's never been done, what you just ordered.”

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “A fitting choice for the first Sun Summoner, then, wouldn't you say?”

He bowed slightly to us, then turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving no chance for argument.

Genya stared at me, aghast.

“What?” I asked defensively.

“Alina,” Genya said slowly, “why would you question that?”

“I wasn't questioning it.” It wasn't like I wasn't used to standing out or keeping myself separated from others. Mal had been one of very few people I'd ever gotten close to because of what I was, and the only one who had known what I could do. “I just wanted to understand.”

“That’s hardly the point! This is a mark of your standing, of the Darkling’s esteem. It will place you high above all others.”

“. . . Well now I _actually_ don't want to wear it,” I said, a sour look on my face.

Genya threw up her hands in exasperation and took me by the elbow, leading me back through the palace to the main entrance. Two liveried servants opened the large golden doors for us. With a jolt, I realized that they were wearing white and gold, the same colors as Genya’s kefta, a servant’s colors. No wonder she thought I was crazy for doing anything other than accepting the Darkling’s offer with a smile. And maybe she was right. I was in a world I didn't know that operated on rules I didn't understand, surrounded by strangers. I should want to wrap that status around myself like armor.

The thought stayed with me through the long walk back across the grounds to the Little Palace. Dusk was falling, and servants were lighting the lamps that lined the gravel path. By the time we climbed the stairs to my room, my stomach was turning.

I sat down by the window, staring out at the grounds. While I brooded, Genya rang for a servant, whom she sent to find a seamstress and order up a dinner tray. But before she sent the girl away, she turned to me. “Maybe you’d prefer to wait and dine with the Grisha later tonight?” she asked.

I shook my head. I was far too tired and overwhelmed to even think about being around another crowd of people. “But would you stay?” I asked her nervously.

She hesitated.

“You don’t need to, Genya,” I said with a soft smile. “You're more than welcome to eat with everyone else.”

“Not at all. Dinner for two then,” she said imperiously, and the servant raced off. Genya closed the door and walked to the little dressing table, where she started straightening the items on its surface: a comb, a brush, a pen and pot of ink. I didn’t recognize any of them, but someone must have had them brought to my room for me. I looked through the drawers, stopping when I found paper. I would write to Mal first thing in the morning.

With her back still to me, Genya said, “Alina, you should understand that, when you start your training tomorrow. . . well, Corporalki don’t eat with Summoners. Summoners don’t dine with Fabrikators, and no one eats with servants.”

I studied her, finding her harder to read than most people. “Are you saying that because that's how it's done, or because you're trying to find a way to decline politely? I promise I won't cry into my soup if you don't want to eat with me.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “It’s not that at all!”

I stared at her, waiting.

Genya blew out a frustrated breath. “You don’t understand. It’s a great honor to be asked to dine with you, but the other Grisha might not approve.”

“Why?”

Genya sighed and sat down on one of the carved chairs. “Because I’m the Queen’s pet. Because they don’t consider what I do valuable. A lot of reasons.”

“A lot of stupid reasons, you mean.” I considered if one of those had something to do with the King. I thought of the liveried servants standing at every doorway in the Grand Palace, all of them dressed in white and gold. What must it be like for Genya, isolated from her own kind but not a true member of the court? I felt a surprising and painful tug of understanding. I thought of the attention I'd gotten because of the way I looked, while I had to keep myself isolated because of what I was. I thought of how Mal thrived because of the way he looked and the warmth he radiated. I thought of Genya, trapped and alone, and because of her looks. . . . “It’s funny,” I said after a while. “Everyone seems to think that being beautiful makes life so much easier.”

“Oh it does,” Genya said, and laughed. I couldn’t help but laugh, too.

We were interrupted by a knock on the door, and the seamstress soon had us occupied with fittings and measurements. When she had finished and gathered up her muslin and pins and left, we turned our attention to dinner. The food was less alien than I’d expected, the kind of food we’d eaten on feast days at Keramzin: sweet pea porridge, quail roasted in honey, and fresh figs. I found I was hungrier than I’d ever been and cleaned the plate with a finger in place of licking it outright like I wanted to.

Genya maintained a steady stream of chatter during dinner, mostly about Grisha gossip. I didn’t know any of the people she was talking about, but I was grateful not to have to make conversation, so I nodded and smiled when necessary. When the last servants left, taking our dinner dishes with them, I couldn’t suppress a yawn, and Genya rose.

“How do I send a letter?” I asked. I had no idea how post worked in the Little Palace.

“You can just give it to me. I'll pass it along at the palace.” She said with a shrug of one beautiful shoulder. "To a military encampment, right?" She guessed.

I nodded. "Probably. And thank you,” I added sincerely. “I want to wake up early tomorrow – is there someone I can-”

Genya made a face, as if I'd just declared my intention to take a barefoot stroll through the stables. “I'll tell a servant on my way out. And I’ll come get you for breakfast in the morning. At a _reasonable_ hour. It will take a while for you to learn your way around. The Little Palace can be a bit of a maze, so I'll give you a tour.” Then her perfect lips turned up in a mischievous smile. “You should try to rest. Tomorrow you meet Baghra.”

“Baghra?”

Genya grinned wickedly. “Oh yes. She’s an absolute treat.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she gave me a little wave and slipped out the door. I chewed on my lip. Exactly what was in store for me tomorrow?

As the door closed behind Genya, I felt fatigue creep over me. The excitement of meeting the King and Queen, the strange marvels of the Grand Palace and the Little Palace had kept my exhaustion at bay, but now it returned—and, with it, a huge, echoing feeling of loneliness.

I undressed, hung my uniform neatly on a peg behind the star-speckled screen, and placed my shiny new boots beneath it. I rubbed the brushed wool of the coat between my fingers, hoping to find some sense of familiarity, but the fabric felt wrong, too stiff, too new. I missed my dirty old coat. 

I changed into a nightdress of soft white cotton and rinsed my face, then I climbed onto the high bed, sliding beneath the heavy silks and furs, and blew out the lamp. Distantly, I heard a door closing, voices calling their goodnights, the sounds of the Little Palace going to sleep. I stared into the darkness. I’d never had a room to myself before. In Keramzin, I’d slept in an old portrait hall that had been converted into a dormitory, surrounded by countless other girls. In the army, I’d slept in the barracks or tents with the other Surveyors. My new room felt huge and empty. In the silence, all the events of the day rushed in on me, along with the week's journey and my unwilling departure from Kribirsk. Tears began spilling over my eyes.

Maybe I would wake tomorrow and find that it had all been a dream, that Alexei was still alive and Mal was unhurt, that no one had tried to kill me and I hadn't killed anyone either, that I’d never met the King and Queen or seen the Apparat, or felt the Darkling’s hand on the nape of my neck or his hand in mine. Maybe I would wake to smell the campfires burning, safe in my own worn clothes, on my flimsy little cot, and I could tell Mal all about this strange and terrifying, but very beautiful, dream.

I rubbed my thumb over the scar in my palm and heard Mal’s voice saying, _“We’ll be okay, Alina. We always are.”_

“I hope so, Mal,” I whispered into my pillow in a tear-choked voice. 

It took me a long time to cry myself to sleep.


	9. The Moving Shadow

I dreamed that I was back in Keramzin, slipping through the darkened hallways on stockinged feet, trying to find Mal. I could hear him calling to me, but his voice never seemed to get any closer. Finally, I reached the top floor and the door to the old blue bedroom where we liked to sit in the window seat and look out at our meadow in the distance. I heard Mal laughing. I threw open the door. . . and screamed. There was blood everywhere. A volcra was perched on the window seat and, as it turned on me and opened its horrible jaws, I saw that it had gray quartz eyes.

I bolted awake, my heart thudding in my chest, and looked around in terror. When I remembered where I was and realized I had been dreaming, I fell back to the pillows with a groan.

I had just started to doze off again, counting the leaves of a juniper wreath on the canopy of the bed, when a quiet knock sounded on the doors and someone let themselves in.

“Your wake up call, mistress,” a servant said in a clear, gentle voice.

Then I remembered – I wanted to write Mal before the day started. I sat up and thanked her. She asked if I wanted anything, and I requested tea. When she left, I stretched and reached out to run a finger over the intricately carved birds and flowers on the bedpost. High above me, the canopy of the bed opened to reveal a ceiling painted in bold colors, an elaborate pattern of leaves and flowers and birds in flight. I threw off the heavy covers and slid my feet into the little fur-lined slippers set out by the bed, then spread the blankets up neatly – a habit from years in the military – and moved to the basin to wash my face and rinse my mouth. I’d forgotten to close the curtains when I went to bed, and pale sunlight was streaming through the windows. I let the light wash over me and collect around my skin in a soft, pale glow, something I hadn't been able to do since careful days as a child at Keramzin. It was hard not to be nervous about using my powers so openly, but the joy of it was impossible to resist.

Needing no extra light, I moved to sit at the desk where Genya had altered my appearance yesterday, and began writing.

I had finished and sealed my letter and was standing at the window, warmed by my own light, and was looking down at the lush grounds and the morning sun sparkling on the lake when a soft knock came at the door. When I opened it, a servant was waiting with a stack of clothing, a pair of boots, and a rich, black kefta draped over her arm. I barely had time to thank her before she bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

I closed the door and set the boots and clothing down on the bed. The new kefta I hung carefully over the dressing screen. For a while, I just looked at it. I’d spent my life in clothes passed down from older orphans, and then in the standard-issue uniform of the First Army. I’d certainly never had anything made for me. And I had only dreamed of wearing a Grisha's kefta in vague, distant moments. I had a Grisha's abilities, but I had never _been_ Grisha, and had thought I never would be. I'd never allowed myself to seriously think of the future that way. I was an orphan, a cartographer, a soldier, a best friend, and nothing more.

I combed my hair. I wasn’t sure when Genya would be arriving, so I didn’t know if I had time for a bath. I had finished my tea before the kefta had arrived and didn't have the courage to ring for a servant to get more. There was nothing left for me to do.

I started with the clothes laid out on the bed: close-fitting breeches of a fabric I’d never encountered that seemed to fit and move like a second skin, a long blouse of thin cotton that tied with a black sash, and boots. But to call them boots didn’t seem right. I’d owned boots. These were something else entirely, made of the softest black leather and fitted perfectly to my calves. They were strange clothes, similar to what peasant men and farmers wore. But the fabrics were finer and more expensive than any peasant could ever afford.

When I was dressed, I eyed the kefta. Was I really going to put that on? Was I really going to be a Grisha? It didn’t seem real.

I took a deep breath, pulled the kefta off the screen, and slipped it on. It was lighter than it looked, and like the other clothes, it fit perfectly. I fastened the little hidden buttons in the front and stepped back to try to look at myself in the mirror above the basin. The kefta was deepest inky black and fell nearly to my feet. The sleeves were wide, and though it was a lot like a coat, it was so elegant I felt as if I were wearing a gown. I noticed the embroidery at the cuffs. All Grisha indicated their designation within their order by color of embroidery: pale blue for Tidemakers, silver for Squallers, black for Heartrenders, and so on. My cuffs were embroidered in gold, the design more intricate and ornate than I had seen on any other kefta. I ran my finger over the gleaming threads, feeling a small twinge of anxiety, and nearly jumped when a knock sounded at the door.

“Nearly perfect. I knew you'd look good in black,” said Genya with a bright smile when I opened the door and she took me in. “We just need to do something with your hair.”

I did the graceful thing and stuck my tongue out at her, then called after her when she swept out the door. She gave me a questioning look.

“I'm eating in here. Want to join?”

She frowned. “You should eat with the other Grisha. They're expecting you. You're all they've been talking about, in fact.”

“All the more reason to stay in here. Haven't you heard of being fashionably late? Or if you prefer, it will make me seem more mysterious if people only catch glimpses of me in the halls and on the grounds. Third option: I'm dressed in black, which I'm pretty sure means I can do just about anything I like, and everyone else can cram it.”

The truth was, I somehow felt that more than anything else, meeting other Grisha, peers – if I would have any, in this color - would make this more real. And if it was more real, that would make it harder to pretend I could leave soon. As freeing as it was being here, standing in a kefta, talking to a beautiful Grisha, knowing I was going to get _actual training_ and learn about what it meant to have powers, I was still nothing more than Alina Starkov. I wanted to go back to my life, back to Mal, and back to a place where things made sense. Where I got my own breakfast in the mess hall, punched people who annoyed me too much, and wondered if I'd hear a knock outside the barracks as I was drifting off to sleep at night.

“. . .Fine," Genya said. "But only if you let me do your hair.”

“What's wrong with my hair?”

She heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Everything, Alina.”

“I have lovely hair!”

“Yes, you do. But it's utterly impractical for your studies, and if I see you walking around later today with it tied up in some lazy knot I will have an apoplectic fit. Did they let you wear it down like that in the First Army?”

“Not on field duty or when we marched, and I had to keep it pinned back when I was bent over a drafting table, but otherwise yes,” I said, defensive. Then, with a grin, added “Usually if someone didn't like it, I just smiled at them and they let me carry on with a warning.“

She laughed, a high, beautiful sound, and pushed me toward the chair at the desk, ringing for a servant along the way.

“Oh, here,” I said. “My first letter.” I smiled and handed it to her. She glanced down at the address curiously and tucked it into a hidden pocket in her robe with a promise to pass it along once she had given me the tour.

A servant came and Genya ordered food brought up. Then she set upon me, first erasing the work she had done on my face and hair yesterday, then using delicate pins to pull some of it away from my face and into an elegant series of knots at the back of my head, leaving the rest spilling down my back in smooth waves.

“That should keep it out of the way,” she said, standing back and looking at her work with a satisfied, almost smug expression. “Here.” She handed me the gold mirror so I could see the back.

I let out a low whistle. “If the Queen doesn't kiss the ground you walk on, she's-” I choked the last words off, catching myself before I spewed treason.

Genya seemed to know my problem. “Alina, I promise you, whatever you were going to say, I have said much worse.”

“. . . An idiot,” I whispered in a small voice.

She laughed, and after a tense moment I found myself joining her.

Pastries had been delivered while she worked, and we ate and talked and laughed.

When it was time to leave, I followed her as she swept down the hallway and descended the stairs, with only the slightest hesitation as I passed through the doorway. Genya led me to the same domed room where we had gathered the previous afternoon for the processional. It wasn’t nearly as crowded today, but there was still a lively buzz of conversation. In the corners, Grisha clustered around samovars and lounged on divans, warming themselves by elaborately tiled ovens. Others finished breakfast at the four long tables arranged in a square at the room’s center. Unlike at the procession, everyone here seemed to be younger than Genya and I by at least several years.

Silence fell in a ripple as we entered, and every face turned to us, some singly, others in groups as friends nudged one another. Most had wide eyes and open mouths. I heard a quiet whisper exchanged, but otherwise the only sound was our footsteps as we passed. I had known wearing black would likely garner a reaction, but I had also thought that people would have been told about it before seeing me. I did my best not to flush or return stares or quicken my pace.

Genya seemed utterly unaffected except for a funny smile on her lips, so small it almost wasn't there. I would almost say she looked proud, or satisfied. She tilted her chin up a notch. “Now, these doors lead to the library and the workrooms.” She gestured to a massive set of double doors in front of us. “That way to the Grand Palace,” she said, pointing to the double doors on the left, directly opposite the stairs that lead to my room. Genya started to lead me toward the library.

“What's in there?” I asked, nodding to the closed double doors behind the Darkling’s table.

“If those doors open, pay attention. They lead to the Darkling’s council room and his quarters.”

I nodded. When I looked more closely at the heavily carved doors, I could make out the Darkling’s symbol hidden in the tangle of vines and running animals. I tore myself away and hurried after Genya, who was already on her way out of the domed hall. I followed her across a corridor to another set of enormous double doors. This pair had been carved to look like the cover of an old book, and when Genya pulled them open, I gasped.

The library was two stories high, its walls lined from floor to ceiling with books. A balcony ran around the second story, and its dome was made entirely of glass so that the whole room glowed with morning light. A few reading chairs and small tables were set by the walls. At the room’s center, directly beneath the sparkling glass dome, was a round table ringed by a circular bench.

“You’ll have to come here for history and theory,” Genya said, leading me around the table and across the room. “I finished with all that years ago. So boring.” Then she laughed. “Close your mouth. You look like a trout.”

I snapped my mouth shut, but that didn’t stop me from looking around in awe. Books were scarce in army encampments. The Cartographer's Tent always had plenty, but they were all on. . .cartography. The Duke’s library had seemed so grand to me, but compared to this place it was a hovel. All of Keramzin seemed shabby and faded viewed beside the beauty of the Little Palace, but somehow it made me sad to think of it that way. I wondered what Mal’s eyes would see.

My steps slowed. Were the Grisha allowed guests? Could Mal come visit me in Os Alta? Could I visit him? He had his duties with his regiment, but if he could get leave. . . . The thought filled me with excitement. The Little Palace didn’t seem quite so intimidating when I thought of walking its corridors with my best friend.

We left the library through another set of double doors and passed into a dark hallway. Genya turned left, but I glanced down the hall to the right and saw two Corporalki emerge from a large set of red-lacquered doors. They gave us unfriendly looks before they caught sight of my kefta and pulled themselves up short.

“Come on,” Genya whispered, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me in the opposite direction.

“Where do those doors lead?” I asked.

“To the anatomy rooms.”

A chill rippled through me. The Corporalki. Healers. . . and Heartrenders. They had to practice somewhere, but I had never thought of what that practice might entail. I quickened my steps to catch up with Genya. I didn’t want to get caught by myself anywhere near those red doors.

At the end of the hallway, we stopped at a set of doors made of light wood, exquisitely carved with birds and blooming flowers. The flowers had yellow diamonds at their centers, and the birds had what looked like amethyst eyes. The door handles were wrought to look like two perfect hands. Genya took hold of one and pushed the door open.

The Fabrikators’ workshops had been positioned to make the most of the clear eastern light, and the walls were made up almost entirely of windows. The brightly lit rooms reminded me a bit of a Documents Tent, but instead of atlases, stacks of paper, and bottles of ink, the large worktables were laden with bolts of fabric, chunks of glass, thin skeins of gold and steel, and strangely twisted hunks of rock. In one corner, terrariums held exotic flowers, insects, and—I saw with a shudder—snakes.

The Materialki in their dark purple kefta sat hunched over their work, but looked up to stare their fill at me as we passed. At one table, two female Fabrikators were working a molten lump of what I thought might become Grisha steel, their table scattered with bits of diamond and jars full of silkworms. At another table, a Fabrikator with a cloth tied over his nose and mouth was measuring out a thick black liquid that stank of tar. Genya led me past all of them to where a Fabrikator hunched over a set of tiny glass discs. He was pale, reed-thin, and in dire need of a haircut.

“Hello, David,” said Genya.

David looked up, blinked, gave a curt nod, and bent back to his work.

Genya sighed. “David, this is Alina.”

David gave a grunt.

“The Sun Summoner,” Genya added.

“These are for you,” he said without looking up.

I looked at the disks. “Oh, um. . . thank you?”

I wasn’t sure what else to say, but when I looked at Genya, she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Goodbye, David,” she said deliberately. David grunted. Genya took my arm and led me outside onto an arched wooden arcade that overlooked a rolling green lawn. “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “David is a great metalworker. He can fold a blade so sharp it will cut through flesh like water. But if you’re not made of metal or glass, he isn’t interested.”

I was just happy he hadn't ogled me like a fish. But then again, he probably hadn't even noticed what color I was wearing.

Genya’s voice was light, but it had a funny little edge to it, and when I glanced at her, I saw that there were bright spots of color on her perfect cheekbones. I canted my head at her, then looked back through the windows to where I could still see David’s bony shoulders and messy brown hair. I smiled. If a creature like Genya could notice a skinny, studious Fabrikator, there might be hope for me yet.

“What?” She said, noticing my smile.

“Nothing,” I said, my smile growing.

Genya squinted suspiciously at me, but I kept my mouth shut. We followed the arcade along the eastern wall of the Little Palace, past more windows that looked into the Fabrikators’ workshops. Then we turned a corner and the windows stopped. Genya quickened her pace.

“Why aren’t there any windows?” I asked.

Genya glanced nervously at the solid walls. They were the only parts of the Little Palace I’d seen that weren’t covered in carvings. “We’re on the other side of the Corporalki anatomy rooms.”

“Don’t they need light to see?”

“Skylights,” she said. “In the roof, like the library dome. They prefer it that way. It keeps them and their secrets safe.”

“. . .What do they do in there?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Only the Corporalki know. But there are rumors that they’ve been working with the Fabrikators on new. . . experiments.”

I shivered and put a hand to my stomach, and was relieved when we turned another corner and the windows began again. Through them I saw bedrooms like my own, and I realized I was seeing the downstairs dormitories. I was grateful that I’d been given a room on the third floor. I could have done without all those stairs to climb, but with the attention I'd gotten just for walking through the domed main hall, I knew I'd soon be glad for the privacy. That, and having my own room for the first time, I was grateful that people couldn’t just walk by my window.

Genya pointed to the lake I’d seen from my room. “That’s where we’re going,” she said, pointing to the little white structures dotting the shore. “To the Summoners’ pavilions.”

“All the way out there?”

“It’s the safest place for you sort to practice. All we need is some overexcited Inferni to burn the whole palace down around us.”

“Ah,” I said. “Fetching _and_ practical. I approve.”

She smiled. “That’s nothing. The Fabrikators have another place all the way outside the city where they work on blast powders. I can arrange for you to have a tour there, too,” she said with a wicked grin.

My eyes widened in excitement. “Really?”

“I was joking, Alina.”

“. . .Oh.”

“I can arrange it though, if you want.”

“Yes! I used to volunteer for blast duty, sketching out excavation sites and mine expansions. I loved the explosions. Well, from a safe distance.” I frowned, thinking of a soldier I'd met once who had gotten too close to a blast. I had seen him again five years later and his eyebrows still hadn't fully grown back.

Genya snorted. I was nearly disgusted that even that sound was almost graceful coming from her. “There's an Inferni I should introduce you to some time. You two would love each other. He got banned from practice for a week once.”

I looked at her, interested, but she didn't add to the story. We descended a set of steps to a gravel path and made our way to the lake. As we approached it, another building became visible on the far shore. To my surprise, I saw groups of children running and shouting around it. Children in red, blue, and purple. A bell rang, and they left off their playing and streamed inside. Some of the teachers stopped to whisper when they saw me, but quickly followed the children inside when I met their gazes. I felt a pang. I wasn't sure why.

“A school?” I asked.

Genya nodded. “When a Grisha’s talent is discovered, the child is brought here for training. It’s where nearly all of us learned the Small Science.”

I imagined myself as a child, learning and playing with them. I wouldn't have had to figure things out almost all on my own. I would have known what I was from the beginning. Would I have more power? Less? I had no way of knowing what was sacrificed or gained from the way I had grown and come into myself, but I couldn't help wondering. Would I have been playing with the other children in blue? Or would I have been put in black? I would have been catered to by servants instead of working side by side with them at chores. I never would have become a cartographer or even learned to draw a map. And what might it have meant for Ravka? The Shadow Fold might already be a thing of the past. Mal and I would never have had to fight the volcra. In fact, Mal and I would probably have long forgotten each other. I felt a little sick at the idea.

I looked back across the water to the school. “What happens when they finish?”

“They become members of the Second Army. Many are sent to the great houses to serve with noble families, or they’re sent to serve with the First Army on the northern or southern front, or near the Fold. The best are chosen to remain at the Little Palace, to finish their education and join the Darkling’s service.”

“Ivan and Fedyor said Grisha's families are compensated.”

“That's true. They’re compensated handsomely. A Grisha’s family never wants.”

Even though I had no family to be compensated, I was glad for it, somehow.

“They go home and visit though, right?”

Genya shrugged. “I haven’t seen my parents since I was five. This is my home.”

Looking at Genya in her white and gold kefta, I wasn’t quite convinced. I’d lived at Keramzin for most of my life, but I’d never felt I belonged there. And even after eight years, the same had been true for the King’s Army. The only place I’d ever felt I belonged was with Mal, and even that hadn’t lasted. I wondered at the dwindling number of differences there seemed to be between Genya and me.

When we reached the lakeshore, we strolled past the stone pavilions, but Genya didn’t stop until we reached a path that wound from the shore into the woods.

“Here we are,” she said.

I peered up the path. Hidden in the shadows, I could just make out a small stone hut, obscured by trees. “There?”

“I can’t go with you. Not that I’d want to.”

I looked back up the path. “Encouraging,” I said half to myself.

Genya gave me a pitying look. “Baghra’s not so bad once you get used to her. But you don’t want to be late.”

“Right,” I said hastily, and hurried up the path. “Thank you!” I said over my shoulder.

“Good luck!” Genya called after me.

The stone hut was small and round and, I noted apprehensively, didn’t seem to have any windows. I walked up the few steps to the door and knocked. When no one answered, I knocked again and waited. I wasn’t sure what to do. I looked back up the path, but Genya was long gone. I knocked once more, then screwed up my courage and opened the door.

The heat hit me like a blast, and I instantly began to sweat in my new clothes. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could just make out a narrow bed, a basin, and a stove with a kettle on it. At the center of the room were two chairs and a fire roaring in a large tile oven.

“You’re late,” said a harsh voice.

I looked around but didn’t see anyone in the tiny room. Then one of the shadows moved. I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Uh. . . yeah,” I said nervously. “I was getting a tour. I'm sorry. I'll be on time from now on.” Early. I would be early from now on, and I would stand outside the hut until it was time for me to go in.

“Hmph. Shut the door, girl. You’re letting the heat out.”

I closed the door.

“Good, let’s have a look at you.”

I wanted to turn and leave, but I told myself to stop being stupid. I forced myself to walk over to the fire. A shadow emerged from behind the oven to peer at me in the firelight.

My first impression was of an impossibly ancient woman, but when I looked closer, I wasn’t sure why I’d thought that at all. Baghra’s skin was smooth and taut over the sharp angles of her face. Her back was straight, her body wiry like a Suli acrobat, her coal-black hair untouched by gray. And yet the firelight made her features eerily skull-like, all jutting bones and deep hollows. She wore an old kefta of indeterminate color, and with one skeletal hand she gripped a flat-headed cane that looked like it had been hewn from silvery, petrified wood.

“So,” she said in a low, guttural voice, “you’re the Sun Summoner. Come to save us all. Where’s the rest of you?”

I shifted uneasily. “Uh. . . .”

“Well, girl, are you mute?”

“No,” I managed.

“That’s something, I suppose. Why weren’t you tested as a child?”

“I was. I hid it.”

“Hmph,” she said. Then her expression changed. She looked on me with eyes so unfathomably bleak that a chill rippled through me, despite the heat of the room. “I hope you’re stronger than you look, girl,” she said grimly.

“Me too,” I said in an unusually small voice.

A bony hand snaked out from the sleeve of her robes and fastened hard around my wrist. “Now,” she said, “let’s see what you can do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of things:  
> \- Yes, it's Harshaw. If that doesn't make sense to you, don't try to figure it out. It'll be a spoiler.  
> \- - - - -
> 
> 11/03/16: Back-edited to make note of the fact that the other Grisha at breakfast all look younger than Alina and Genya.


	10. Recap

When Baghra fastened her bony hand around my wrist, I realized instantly that she was an amplifier like the Darkling. I felt the same jolting surety flood through me, and sunlight erupted through the room, shimmering over the stone walls of Baghra’s hut. It shone so brightly that I knew it would be visible through any cracks in the door, even had the hut stood in full sunlight.

Baghra wasn't an easy woman to please, though. I found this consternating at the same time as I found it oddly exciting. No one else so far had been anything less than astounded by the simplest tricks of light. As it turned out I had also grown unaccustomed to anyone not being dazzled by me in some way without me having to try, despite my famously dour temperament. I hadn't realized I'd been hungry for a challenge.

At her command, I showed her everything I could do. I made myself and things around the room invisible and made their shapes appear to warp. I sent a butterfly, as real-looking as if one had followed me in through the door, fluttering through the air, trailing twinkling sparkles. I shaped an exact copy of her and had it move around the hut. I summoned light of different colors and shapes and sizes, both heatless and scorching. I made parts of myself glow, first separately, then together until I looked like I was made of light. I demonstrated a flash I'd once used to disorient someone who walked in on Mal and me while we were stealing a pie from a windowsill in the kitchens at Keramzin. I showed her all the pretty effects we had come up with to entertain ourselves, from glittery air to light in the shape of moving animals to tiny winking spots like light bugs. I made the room look as if it were under water.

I burned a clean hole through a piece of paper and told her how I could do the same to a tree or a game animal. Then I lit it on fire and told her about the volcra I'd turned to ash, but didn't mention the Fjerdan assassins. I explained the invisible net of light I could weave through the air that would let me feel anything that cast a shadow inside of it. I even pulled out a trick I'd only successfully done twice before: a combination of bending light away from the space we occupied and pulling everything in the room into small balls of soft white light, making it look as if we were standing in a field of stars.

The most encouraging sound I got out of her through all of this was a grunt.

“I wasn't trained,” I said at one point, frustrated and defensive. “What I can do is pretty much limited to what a skinny girl and her pudgy friend could come up with to entertain themselves and get out of trouble. I had more chance to practice once we were conscripted, but I still couldn't do much. I had to stay hidden. It wasn't like I could sneak off to use my powers when everyone was set in for the night or go blasting light around all day to test my limits.”

“Why did you hide it?” She asked in an odd tone.

“It's personal,” I said petulantly.

“Were you scared?”

“No, I wasn't scared! I had something to protect, why is that so hard for everyone to understand?” I almost yelled. “Why can't anyone accept that my power wasn't the most important thing in the world to me?”

The look she gave me quelled my temper like a bucket of cold water being dumped over a spark. “Hmph,” she replied eventually. She sat down in a chair by the fire and scrutinized me. After a long minute, I sat across from her.

“So you kept yourself and your little friend entertained. You killed when you had to.” The way she was looking at me sent ice to my stomach and made me wonder if she knew about the Fjerdans. “You might not be hopeless. Don't go puffing up!” She barked when I sat a little straighter, feeling like my time with her so far might not have been for nothing. “My cane isn't hopeless either, and it's more useful than you are.”

I forced myself to remember the little thrill of excitement I'd felt when she hadn't been impressed right away by what I could do. I straightened myself, smothered my sore pride, and made myself pay attention, rather than closing off in the face of her criticism. This was what I wanted: to learn. And I wasn't going to do that if all people did was pat me on the head and tell me how impressive I was.

Something flickered across her face, and I wondered if she had seen the change.

“Can you summon at night?”

I dipped my chin.

“How well?”

“Almost as well as I can during the day. I have the same control and power, I just get tired faster.”

She nodded. “Fine. From now on, we work in the dark. And starting tomorrow, keep that web of yours up all day, every day, as big as you can. If you're conscious, it's out. And when you reach your limit on size, make it bigger.”

I looked at her curiously, but only nodded.

“You have no stamina,” she explained. “A little thing like you who's done nothing worthwhile with her powers wouldn't. Which means you're also probably useless when you're distracted. If you want to stand against the Shadow Fold, you're going to need a lot more than what I've seen today. Now get out and get to work. Meet me tomorrow night by the lake.”

I didn't move. Was that it?

“Well? Have you grown roots?”

“No.” I pulled the schedule Genya had made out of a pocket. I shifted, uncomfortable. “But um. . . I don't suppose you can tell me where the western stables are? Apparently I have combat training there next with someone named Botkin.”

She scoffed, but gave me directions. Gruff, vague directions, but enough that I thought I could find my way.

 

* * * * *

 

The day did not improve. I spent the rest of the morning at the library, where I was given a towering stack of books on Grisha theory and Grisha history and informed that this was just a fraction of my reading list. At lunch, I looked for Genya, but she was nowhere to be found. I took lunch in my room, where I ate staring out over the grounds and letting my mind wander.

After lunch I headed out and joined other Grisha crossing the western lawn. They stared and whispered, but I kept my face ahead and ignored them, effectively discouraging anyone who may want to come up to me and chat.

As I walked, I suddenly got the feeling that someone was watching me. I looked up and saw a figure standing off the path, nearly hidden by the shadows from a low stand of trees. There was no mistaking the long brown robes or the dirty black beard, and even from a distance, I could feel the eerie intensity of the Apparat’s stare. I hurried along, but I sensed his gaze following me, and when I looked back over my shoulder, he was still there.

The training rooms were next to the stables—large, empty, high-beamed rooms with packed dirt floors and weapons of every variety lining the walls. Our instructor, Botkin Yul-Erdene, wasn’t Grisha; he was a former Shu Han mercenary who had fought in wars on every continent for any army that could afford his particular gift for violence. He had straggly gray hair and a gruesome scar across his neck where someone had tried to cut his throat. I spent the next two hours cursing that person for not doing a more thorough job.

Botkin started with endurance drills, racing us across the palace grounds. I did my best to keep up, but quickly fell behind. Physical training wasn't exactly pushed on Cartographers, and if I was ever given heavy work to do, someone always seemed to jump to volunteer to do it for me. I usually saw no reason to turn them down.

“Is this what they teach in First Army?” he sneered in his heavy Shu accent as I stumbled up a hill.

I was too out of breath to answer.

When we returned to the training rooms, the other Summoners paired off for sparring drills, and Botkin insisted on partnering me. The next hour was a blur of painful jabs and punches.

“Block!” he shouted, knocking me backward. “Faster! Maybe little girl likes to be hit?”

Frustratingly, we weren't allowed to use our Grisha abilities in the training rooms. I got more than one bruise while daydreaming of what I'd do to the man if I could.

When I was so tired and sore that I thought I might just lie down and let him kick me, Botkin dismissed the class. But before we were out the door he called, “Tomorrow, little girl comes early, trains with Botkin.”

It was all I could do not to whimper.

By the time I stumbled back to my room and bathed, I just wanted to slink beneath the covers and hide. But I was ravenous, so I ordered up dinner and went looking for Genya. On my way out of the domed hall, the doors behind the Darkling’s table opened and the large room fell silent. I turned and stared along with everyone else.

_If those doors open, pay attention._

Ivan emerged and sauntered over to me, seemingly oblivious to the stares of the other Grisha.

“Come with me, Starkov,” he said when he reached me, then added a mocking “please.”

I scowled at him over a sinking feeling. Had one of the instructors told the Darkling I was hopeless? Had he found out how poorly I'd done with Botkin? Had I done something stupid without realizing it? The Grisha were goggling at me. The jaw of a Tidemaker girl was actually hanging open.

I followed Ivan across the silent hall and through the huge ebony doors. He led me down a hallway and through another door emblazoned with the Darkling’s symbol. It was easy to tell that I was in the war room. There were no windows, and the walls were covered with large maps of Ravka. The maps were made in the old style, with heated ink on animal hide. Under any other circumstances, I could have spent hours studying them, running my fingers over the raised mountains and twisting rivers, admiring the work and detail. Instead, I stood with my hands bunched into clammy fists, my heart thudding in my chest.

The Darkling was seated at the end of a long table, reading through a pile of papers. He looked up when we entered, his quartz eyes glittering in the lamplight.

“Alina,” he said. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the chair beside him.

I hesitated. He didn’t sound angry, but his expression was impossible to read.

Ivan turned to leave, and I nearly grabbed his sleeve and begged him to stay. Instead, he disappeared back through the door, closing it behind him. I swallowed hard and made myself cross the room and take the seat the Darkling offered.

“How was your first day?”

I swallowed again. “Fine,” I said cautiously.

“Really?” he asked, but he was smiling slightly. “Even Baghra? She can be a bit of a trial.”

“Oh, no,” I laughed weakly, “she was lovely. A very delicate touch. Lost of positive encouragement. I've become certain that she and Ivan are closely related.”

A grin played on his lips. “You’re tired?”

I nodded. “I don't mind it though. Combat training is horrifying, but if we'd had someone like Botkin training First Army soldiers, we'd have taken over the continent by now. And I don't mind Baghra, really.”

He looked doubtful.

I looked down at my hands. “My power has been a game my whole life. I used it for tricks, for show, for getting away with things. Honestly I don't think I could ever take it very seriously, or care about it too much, because I couldn't do anything that might get me caught. I've never been able to test my limits before. I've never been pushed before, or been able to really see what I could do. I guess I've felt pent up this whole time and never realized it. Baghra might be rough around the edges, but at least she's not dazzled by every tiny glow I summon. I have a feeling that if I ever earn praise from her – so, you know, a slightly less disgusted-sounding grunt than normal – I'll know I really earned it. There's something nice about knowing someone who won't coddle you.”

A smile tugged at one side of his mouth, nearly settling there. “You have a good attitude.”

I almost laughed.

“Are you homesick?”

My pleasant mask dropped. I hadn't been expecting a question like that. “What's to be sick for?” I responded almost disdainfully. “Worse food, a hard bed, a life of self-imposed obscurity?” I shrugged. Of course I was homesick, but I wasn't about to admit something like that to the Darkling. It felt strange to say I missed the barracks of the First Army. But of course that wasn't it. I missed a world that was familiar, whose rules and roles I was used to, and a person who had been the only real home I'd ever had.

“It will get better.”

I clenched my teeth to stifle a swell of emotions, unwilling to show just how sad I was over it. But I hoped it would get better, like he said. I wasn’t sure how I'd handle many more days like this one.

“It will be harder for you,” he said. “An Etherealnik rarely works alone. Inferni pair up. Squallers often partner with Tidemakers. But you’re the only one of your kind.”

I laughed bitterly. “So how is this different from the rest of my life? Alone then, alone now. Is this talk supposed to be making me feel better? Because if so, you're horrible at cheering people up.”

“You may be the only one of your kind, Alina, but you're not alone in that any more. That's the difference. You have people here who understand what it's like to hide and to be alone, and you have people who understand what it's like to be truly unique. Most importantly, you'll never have to hide what you are again. You'll be venerated for it, in fact.”

“Right,” I said wearily. I wasn't in the mood to see the bright side of things, and even if I had been, I wasn't the sort of person who wanted that kind of attention.

Venerated. I thought of the way the teachers at the school had whispered and then hurried inside when they'd seen me looking.

“Are people afraid of me?” I asked suddenly.

“. . . Did something happen today?”

“No. Just. . . I guess I wasn't prepared for what wearing your color would be like. I knew it would set me apart, and I'm used to people staring and talking. I'm used to attention I don't want. But walking around in this. . . .” I trailed off, plucking at the kefta between two fingers to hold the material up.

The Darkling leaned back in his chair and considered me. “We're different, Alina. You hid it, and that worked for a time. But you were never meant to hide what you are. You're meant to be seen, just as your powers are meant to be used. People are afraid of what they don't understand. A Grisha knows that better than anyone, but you and I,” a shiver went through me, “are as different from other Grisha as Grisha are from otkazat'sya.”

"Otkazat'sya?"

“They're what we call people without the Small Science,” he clarified.

 _Ah._ Hadn't I had almost the exact same thought as we'd talked, sitting by the fire in the barn on the way to Os Alta?

“So. . . in other words, yes, people are scared of me.” I wouldn't look at him.

He gave a quiet chuckle. “People will learn who you are. And it will get better, as I said. It would help if you didn't isolate yourself, though.”

I looked up at him to find a small smile spread over his lips.

The meals. He had to be talking about me taking meals in my room. Carefully, I asked, “Why did you call me in here to ask about my day if you already knew enough about it to know where I ate?”

“I wanted to hear how you thought it went. I know this is a big change for you.”

I nearly snorted. But unexpectedly, I also felt a pang of loneliness at his words. All I could do was nod mutely.

He rose. “Come with me,” he said.

My stupid heart started pounding again. He led me out of the war room and down another hallway.

He pointed to a narrow door set unobtrusively into the wall. “Keep right and this will lead you back to the dormitories. I thought you might want to avoid the main hall.”

I stared at him. “Wait, what?” I blurted. “That’s it?”

He cocked his head to one side. “What were you expecting?”

A barking laugh escaped me. “I don't know. Interrogation? Threats? A stern talking to? An invitation to tea?”

He frowned slightly. “I’m not a monster, Alina. Despite what you may have heard.”

“I don't believe most of what I hear, but I don't discount it, either. I've found that reputations are usually earned. But it was a joke. A horrible one, apparently, but I'm not exactly at my best right now. I just. . . didn’t know what to expect.”

“Other than the worst?”

“It’s an old habit.” I knew I should stop there, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. But neither was he. “But out of curiosity, why shouldn’t I be afraid of you?” I asked. “You’re the Darkling. I’m not saying you _would_ seal my lips shut or leave me in a ditch or ship me off to Tsibeya on a whim, but you certainly could, and there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop you. You can cut people in half. I think it’s prudent to be a little wary and intimidated.”

He studied me for a long moment, and I nearly wished that I’d kept my mouth shut. But then that half smile flickered across his face. “You may have a point. But if this is you wary and intimidated, I'm not certain I'll know what to do with you when you're comfortable.”

A little of the fear ebbed out of me. “I'm less sarcastic, if you can believe it. And I doubt there's a person alive you wouldn't know how to handle.”

“Why do you do that?” he asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

He reached out and took hold of my hand. I felt a thrill and that wonderful sense of surety rush through me. “Rub your thumb across your palm.”

“Oh,” I laughed, looking down at my hand in his. “I stopped realizing I was doing it years ago. Another old habit.”

He turned my hand over and examined it in the dim light of the hallway. He dragged his thumb over the pale scar that ran across my palm. A shivery hum shot through me.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“It's a scar, so I think it's safe to assume a cut was involved at some point.” I shrugged.

He gave me that probing look, and I hastened to answer. “Keramzin. Where I grew up.”

“The tracker is an orphan, too?”

A jolt went through me. I had had the naive hope that he wouldn't have taken note of Mal. That he would be just another soldier, another face, someone who didn't matter.

“Yes,” I said, my voice uneven.

“Is he any good?”

“What?” I was finding it hard to concentrate. The Darkling’s thumb was still moving back and forth, tracing the length of the scar on my palm.

“At tracking. Is he any good at it?”

“Ah,” I said with a little laugh. “Um. . . .” As politely as I could, I pulled my hand from his grip and moved it to my side, flexing it to rid myself of the feeling of his finger stroking it. With my thoughts more coherent, I answered “You haven't heard of him? He's a bit of a legend in the First Army. He's never once failed to find what he was after,” I said with pride.

“I haven't had serious need of a tracker until recently.”

“Even when we were kids Mal was amazing.” I was smiling. “The serfs at Keramzin said he could make rabbits out of rocks. The hunters started taking him out on trips with them before he was ten.”

“I wonder sometimes how much we really understand our own gifts,” he mused. Then he opened the door. “You'll eat in the main hall tomorrow?”

I doubted it was a request, even though he'd phrased it as one.

“I'll eat in the main hall tomorrow,” I confirmed, churlish.

A small smile flitted across his features. It came and went so quickly, I could have missed it if I'd blinked too long. He stepped aside and gave me a little bow.

“Good night, Alina.”

“. . .Good night,” I managed.

I ducked through the doorway and into a narrow hall. A moment later, I heard the sound of a door closing behind me.


	11. No Pastries?

The next morning, my body ached so badly that I could barely drag myself out of bed. Genya, bless her, came in followed by a servant carrying tea and prodded me until I was up, washed, and dressed. When I told her I was supposed to eat downstairs, she walked with me to breakfast. I remembered my assignment from Baghra along the way and cast my net of light as wide as I could. I summoned strands of light in a woven pattern that were so fine they were impossible to see. It wasn't difficult; I had found at Keramzin that if I went too long without using my powers, I started to get sick, so when Mal and I had been conscripted into the military as teenagers, I often had my net out during stretches of time when I couldn't get the privacy to do more.

Just like yesterday, a hush seemed to fall over the domed room as we entered, but this time people at least pretended to carry on their conversations as we passed. It was all I could do to keep my feet moving, until I drew near the four tables and realized I had no idea where to sit. Just as Genya had said, the red-robed Corporalki sat at one table, Etherialki in deep blue at another, and Materialki with their dark purple kefta sat across from the Darkling's table. Everyone had their place, and no one mingled outside of it at the tables, or much at all, as far as I had seen.

When I tentatively began heading toward the Etherialki table, two girls in Summoners’ robes swooped down on me. I recognized Marie from her argument with Sergei before the processional, and the other girl as the one whose jaw had dropped when Ivan had come to fetch me last night.

“Alina!” Marie said, smiling but obviously nervous. “We weren’t properly introduced yesterday. I’m Marie, and this is Nadia.” She gestured to the apple-cheeked girl beside her, who smiled toothily at me. Marie looped her arm through mine, deliberately turning her back on Genya, though I noticed a little tremor in her arm when she touched me. “Come sit with us!”

I frowned and opened my mouth to protest, but Genya simply shook her head and said, “Go on. You belong with the other Grisha. I’ll meet you later if I can.”

“No need, we can—” began Marie.

But Genya cut her off. “Meet you later as you requested.” I hadn't requested it, of course, but she gave me a pointed look and I grinned at her. It wasn't like I wouldn't have asked later, anyway.

Marie flushed. “What are you, her maid?”

“Something like that,” Genya said, and walked off to pour herself a glass of tea.

“Far above herself,” said Nadia with a little sniff.

“Worse every day,” Marie agreed. Then she turned to me and beamed. “You must be starving!”

“Yes, you must, be,” Sergei boomed as he approached flanked by two other Corporalki, a wide smile on his face. He had none of the hesitance of Marie when she'd approached me. “May I invite you to join us for breakfast at our table?”

Marie shot him a dirty look.

“You may,” I said pleasantly, pulling my arm from Marie's. The truth was I'd rather face down another volcra than spend one more minute, let alone an entire breakfast, with two such colossal snobs. I'd be more likely to dump my food on their heads than actually eat it.

Sergei led me to one of the long tables, grinning from ear to ear, and as we approached, servants stepped forward to pull out chairs for us.

“We sit here, at the left hand of the Darkling,” said Sergei proudly, nodding down the length of the table where more Grisha in red kefta sat. “The Etherialki sit there, to his right” he said with a somewhat resentful look at the table opposite ours, where a glowering Marie and Nadia and a few other blue-robed figures were eating breakfast.

“Wouldn't that put us just as close to him as they are?” I asked.

Sergei beamed, the look just cocky enough to remind me of Ivan. “You make a good point, Sun Summoner.”

The Darkling’s table was empty, the only sign of his presence a large ebony chair. When I asked if he would be eating breakfast with us, Sergei shook his head.

“No. He hardly ever dines with us,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. All this fuss about who sat nearest the Darkling, and he couldn’t be bothered to show up?

Plates of rye bread and pickled herring were placed in front of us, and I had to stifle a gag. I hated herring.

“No pastries?” I asked, hopeful.

The others laughed as if I were joking.

“We have the same thing for breakfast every day, more or less” a tall Healer on the other side of Sergei said. “Different fruit, though.”

“All saints, why?” I asked, horrified.

Luckily, there was plenty of bread and, I saw with astonishment, sliced plums that must have come from a hothouse. A servant brought us hot tea from one of the large samovars.

“Sugar!” I exclaimed as he set a little bowl before me.

Sergei and the boy on my other side exchanged a glance and I blushed. Sugar had been rationed in Ravka for the last hundred years, but apparently it wasn’t a novelty in the Little Palace.

“Keeps us humble,” Sergei said through a large bite of fish, answering my question. “Helps us remember that we're real Ravkans. The Darkling doesn't want us to forget what it's like for common folk.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Sergei, I grew up a peasant." I tried not to be irritated by the look of surprise on his face. "No commoner in their right mind would willingly eat pickled herring and rye for breakfast. It's vile. Does the Darkling think taste buds are exclusive to the wealthy?” I grimaced and nudged my plate away with a finger.

Everyone was gawking at me, and I realized I'd probably just done the equivalent of Genya or the Darkling insulting the King and Queen of Ravka right in front of me.

I laughed nervously and gestured to the others to help themselves to my fish. “Different tastes, right?” I offered. I nearly gagged at how quickly it disappeared from my plate.

Another group of Corporalki joined us and, after brief introductions, began peppering me with questions.

Where was I from? The North. (Mal and I never lied about where we were from. We just didn’t tell the whole truth.)

Was I really a mapmaker? Yes.

Had I really been attacked by Fjerdans? Yes.

How many volcra had I killed? One.

They all seemed disappointed by this last answer, particularly the boys.

“But I heard you killed hundreds of them when the skiff was attacked!” protested a boy named Iro with the sleek features of a mink.

“Hey, keep that to yourself. I don't want people thinking I'm a showoff, right?” I answered with a grin.

He was looking at me, clearly trying to tell if I was serious.

I smiled to myself, imagining the fun Mal and I could have with the poor boy.

Breakfast went on that way, and as students began shuffling out for classes, I excused myself to go to the library and work on my mountain of reading.

Genya found me in the library. I was immensely relieved for the distraction.

“How was breakfast?” She asked.

“Awful.”

Genya made a disgusted sound. “Herring and rye?”

I’d been thinking more about the interrogation and the looks Nadia and Marie had been shooting Sergei and I in turns all morning, but I just nodded.

She wrinkled her nose. “Vile.”

I eyed her suspiciously. “What did you eat?”

Genya looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot and whispered, “One of the cooks has a daughter with terrible spots. I took care of them for her, and now she sends me the same pastries they prepare for the Grand Palace every morning. That's what we had yesterday. Weren't they divine?”

I smiled and shook my head. The other Grisha might look down on Genya, but she had her own kind of power and influence. “You, madam, are a horrible tease.”

Genya made a 'tsk' sound. “Don’t say anything about it, though.” Genya added. “The Darkling is very keen on the idea that we all eat hearty peasant fare.”

“One of the Corporalki mentioned something about that. Seems. . .interesting.”

“You don't approve?”

“It's not that. But we eat the 'hearty peasant fare' off porcelain plates, beneath a dome inlaid with real gold while wearing robes that no commoner could afford with a lifetime of savings. Seems like kind of a moot point. And if you're going to make a moot point, surely you can do it with something less vile than pickled herring and rye.” I added with a grimace.

Genya laughed.

I smiled, but didn't join her. The Little Palace was a storybook version of serf life, no more like the real Ravka than the glitter and gilt of the royal court. The Grisha seemed obsessed with emulating serf ways, right down to the clothes we wore beneath our kefta. But there was something a little silly about all of it. The Grisha military tent at Keramzin had been nicer than the Duke's manor where Mal and I had grown up. And what peasant wouldn’t pick pastry over pickled fish?

“I won’t say a word about the pastry, dear woman,” I promised. “I can keep a secret just as well as the next figure of myth and legend.”

 

* * * * *

 

I took lunch with the Materialki.  I figured I could eat one meal every day at each table. I didn't especially want to, but it seemed like the fairest way to do things. Plus maybe if I did that, I could encourage the different Orders to talk more to one another, instead of to me. It hadn't been a problem much outside of the main hall. Everyone seemed to show me a sense of deference, standing aside as I passed, keeping their eyes away from mine, things like that, but breakfast had been different. Even Marie, who had obviously been nervous around me, had been chatty. I wondered why. Then I thought back to the "friends" I'd made in military training and wondered if this was another case of getting to know the girl who might be able to give you something.

Fortunately, since I was supposed to meet Botkin early, lunch was a short affair. The Fabrikators mostly seemed to be less extreme versions of David. Half of them spent the meal going over notes or discussing work with one another, leaving fewer people interested in talking to me, to my relief. The Materialki, more than anyone, didn't seem to care what color I wore, and I loved it. Just as at breakfast, though, the rest had questions, though most of them were academic, and they mostly seemed to want to know what kinds of things I could do. A few of them even offered ideas.

“So where's Genya?” I asked at one point. “I know she works at the palace, but I figured she'd be around more.”

“She eats at the Grand Palace,” answered Ruslan, a handsome brunette with a long neck.

“And sleeps there,” added the girl next to him, his twin, whose name was Natalya. “The Queen likes to make sure she’s always available.”

“So does the King,” a red-headed girl added under her breath.

“Faina!” Natalya protested, but she was laughing.

I gaped at them. “You mean—”

“It’s just a rumor,” said Faina. But she and Natalya exchanged a knowing look.

I thought of the King’s wet lips, the broken blood vessels in his nose, and beautiful Genya in her servant’s colors. I pushed my plate away. The little bit of appetite I’d had was gone.

 

* * * * *

 

At dinner, I sat down stiffly at the Summoners’ table, sore from class with Botkin, and was quickly swarmed by Etherealki, headed by Marie and Nadia.

It seemed to last forever. I picked at my plate and nursed a cup of tea as the two girls prodded me with questions about my first lessons, where my room was, how my lessons with Baghra were, what the trip here had been like, if I wanted to go with them to the banya that night. I was exhausted and worn out, and I still had a lesson with Baghra to get through. When they realized they weren’t going to get much out of me, they turned to the other Summoners to chat about their classes. While I was put through my own courses, the other Grisha, most of them around the age of seventeen, I found out to my mortification, were studying advanced theory, languages, military strategy. Apparently, this was all to prepare for when they left the Little Palace next summer. Most of them would travel to the Fold or to the northern or southern front to assume command positions in the Second Army. But the greatest honor was to be asked to travel with the Darkling as Ivan did.

I did my best to pay attention, but my mind kept wandering so much that I found I had to keep re-summoning my net of light. I hoped Bahgra wouldn't ask me about it at the same time that I knew that hope was utterly in vain. At some point I realized that Marie must have asked me a question, because she and Nadia were both staring at me.

“Sorry, what?” I said.

They exchanged a glance.

“Do you want us to walk with you to the lake?” Marie asked. “For your lesson?”

“Sure,” I said numbly, and stood up with them. The servants sprang forward to pull our chairs out and clear the dishes. I doubted I’d ever get used to being waited on this way.

“Ne brinite,” Marie said with a giggle.

“What?” I asked, baffled.

“To e biti zabavno.”

Nadia giggled. “She said, ‘Don’t worry. It will be fun.’ It’s Suli dialect. Marie and I are studying it in case we get sent west.”

“Ah,” I said. “You'll have to tell me your secret. The Darkling said everyone has a hard time with her.”

“Oh, no,” said Nadia, looking appalled. “We don't have lessons with Baghra. Almost no one does.”

“Shi si yuyan Suli,” Sergei interrupted as he strode past us out of the domed hall. “That’s Shu for ‘Suli is a dead language.’”

Marie scowled and Nadia bit her lip.

“Sergei is studying Shu,” whispered Nadia.

“I picked up on that,” I whispered back.

Marie spent the entire walk to the lake complaining about Sergei and the other Corporalki and debating the merits of Suli over Shu. Suli was best for missions in the northwest. Shu meant you’d be stuck translating diplomatic papers. Sergei was an idiot who was better off learning to trade in Kerch. She took a brief break to point out the banya, an elaborate system of steam baths and cold pools nestled in a birch grove beside the Little Palace, then launched immediately into a rant about selfish Corporalki overrunning the baths every night.

I almost found myself wishing I was headed to another lesson with Botkin. Almost. Marie and Nadia were making me want to punch something.

When we neared the lake, the two Summoners wished me luck and veered off back in the direction of the banya. I moved toward the path that lead to Baghra's hut, but stopped when I noticed a figure standing at the edge of the water. I looked closer and realized it was her, standing and staring off across the calm surface of the lake, her cane in one hand. As tall as she stood, I wondered why she needed it.

I approached her and smiled in greeting when she turned, but Baghra got right to it.

“Close your eyes,” she said as soon as I was standing in front of her. I closed them. “Now tell me what I'm holding in my hand.”

“I. . .it doesn't really work that way.” I said nervously. I was oddly afraid of denying this woman anything she wanted. “I can't feel in that kind of detail.”

“Of course you can,” she barked. “Light is everywhere, and you have control of it. You're inside of it. You're not restricted to what the shadows tell you. If you can feel where I'm standing, then you can tell me what's in my hand. Do you know why they call it the Small Science yet, girl? Everything in the world breaks down into parts smaller than we can see, and light is piece of every one of those parts. When I'm done with you, you won't just be able to tell me everything that's around you, you'll be able to describe what it all looks like from the inside. Put yourself into the light that's passing over me. Find my hand.”

“Put myself into. . . ?”

She made a disgusted sound. “Did you think it was separate from you? Your power is the same as your heart, your stomach, whatever you call a brain up there. It's your fingers and your legs. Are those things separate from you?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not. Your power is no different, and the light is that power. You don't have to tell your lungs to breathe, do you? And you don't have to tell your light to show you what's around you, if you can be bothered to pay attention. You're just ignoring what it tells you. If you can use your eyes or your ears, you can see through your light. Now tell me what's in my hand.”

It went poorly. “You're trying too hard,” she finally snapped after what felt like the hundredth attempt. “Listen! Look! Do you tell your eyes to see? No. Your power is no different. Stop trying to force it to do what you want, girl, and let it be what it is. Let it speak to you. Pay attention. A child could do what I'm asking.”

My eyes flew open. “Why don't you ask a child to do it, then? Ask a child to close the Saint's-forsaken Shadow Fold! I taught myself, Baghra, I'm sorry if I didn't do it right while I was trying to keep everyone from finding out what I was! I'm sorry I don't just magically get this, but telling me how stupid I am for it isn't going to get me there any faster!”

“Do you argue with everyone who tries to help you?”

“Help me?” I cried, sputtering in disbelief. “I- You're a delight, Baghra, you know that?”

I was rewarded with her cane smacking into my shin bone.

“Ow! Saints, woman! Who spat in your dinner?”

“Have you kept your net up?” She barked in answer.

“Yes,” I said, glaring at her and rubbing my shin gingerly. “It dropped a couple of times at dinner, and during combat training, but I kept it up otherwise. Like you said to,” I added petulantly.

“Do it again tomorrow and do it right. Remember: if you're awake, it's up.”

Without another word, she turned and headed in the direction of her hut.

I gaped after her, but she didn't stop or say another word before disappearing into the shadows of the forest that lined the path to her hut.

I stayed at the lake until I felt like I would fall asleep on my feet, trying to “let myself” see the detail of the world around me. It was with a scoff that I finally left for my room when the moon was high above the trees.

 

* * * * *

 

The following day, I got up and did it all over again. And again. And again. Each day was worse and more frustrating than the one before, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I wasn’t a mapmaker anymore, and if I couldn’t manage to become a Grisha, where would that leave me?

I thought of the Darkling’s words that night beneath the broken beams of the barn. _You’re the first glimmer of hope I’ve had in a long time._ He believed I could help him destroy the Fold. And if I could, no soldier, no merchant, no tracker would ever have to cross the Unsea again. No one else would be lost or maimed or carried away.

But as the days dragged on, that idea began to seem more and more absurd.

I spent long hours in Baghra’s hut learning breathing exercises and holding painful poses that were supposed to help with my focus. She gave me books to read, teas to drink, and repeated whacks with her stick, but though my power proved malleable enough and I made progress in most tasks she set me, it never got any stronger. “You don't have hiding as an excuse anymore, so what's holding you back?” she would cry in frustration.

I didn't have an answer for her. But she was right, I could feel it. It was as if there was a wall between me and my power that I had never noticed before, but once I felt it, I realized it was as familiar as my ability to call the light.

My daily failures with Baghra were matched only by the torture that Botkin put me through. He ran me all over the palace grounds, through the woods, up and down hills until I thought I would collapse. He put me through sparring drills and falling drills until my body was covered in bruises and my ears ached from his constant grumbling: too slow, too weak, too skinny.

“Botkin cannot build house from such little twigs!” he shouted at me, giving my upper arm a squeeze. “Eat something!”

I was eating as much as I ever had. More, even. I had always been small, but no one had called me too skinny since I had been a child. And he was right, I noticed. Surrounded by other Grisha, by people who were uncommonly beautiful, I noticed that I _did_ seem too thin, my skin lacked their luster, my eyes and hair their shine. I had grown accustomed to being the most beautiful person in the room. Now, I was reminded of how small and weak and self-conscious I had felt before I'd discovered my powers, and before I'd started to grow into myself as a teenager. I improved in Botkin's classes, I got stronger and faster, but no matter how hard I pushed myself, I wasn't able to keep up with the other Grisha. And I slept more poorly than I remembered doing since I'd been very young.

Baghra believed that my problems were connected to my failure to call on more of my power, and she was convinced I had more. “How much harder is it to walk with your feet bound? Or to talk with a hand over your mouth?” she lectured. “Why do you waste all of your strength fighting your true nature?”

I wasn’t. My light had been the one thing that had always mattered most to me in the world, next to Mal. I cherished it. Or, at least I thought I did. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

The Etherealki liked to practice by the lakeside together, experimenting with new ways to use wind and water and fire. I went with them the first time Marie and Nadia asked, and shot light out over the water, and though everyone seemed awed and impressed, it was lackluster and I couldn't bring myself to care enough to put on a proper show. It wasn't as if using my power didn't still make me feel good, the way eating or drinking or getting a good night's sleep did, but for the first time, it felt almost separate from me. Like it was a thing I couldn't get to do what I wanted, instead of an extension of my limbs or bones or skin, as much a piece of me as my body was.

In the evenings, Grisha sat around the domed hall, sipping tea or kvas, planning weekend excursions into Balakirev or one of the other villages near Os Alta. I was invited, but because the Darkling was still concerned about assassination attempts, I had to remain behind. I was glad for the excuse. The more time I spent with the other Grisha, the more exhausted and out of place I was beginning to feel.

I rarely saw the Darkling, and when I did it was from a distance, coming or going, deep in conversation with Ivan or the King’s military advisers. I learned from the other Grisha that he wasn’t often at the Little Palace, but spent most of his time traveling between the Fold and the northern border, or south to where Shu Han raiding parties were attacking settlements before winter set in. Hundreds of Grisha were stationed throughout Ravka, and he was responsible for all of them. He was also the most deadly weapon Ravka had at its disposal, though I was told he rarely fought enemy forces himself.

Still, I resented him for his absence, as if he had a responsibility to me since he'd been the one to take me away from my life and bring me here. Why had he put me in his color if he was just going to ignore me? He never said a word to me, rarely even glanced my way. I wondered if it was because he knew that I was showing no improvement, that his Sun Summoner might turn out to be nothing after all.

When I wasn’t suffering at the hands of Baghra or Botkin, I was sitting in the library, wading through books on Grisha theory. I thought I understood the basics of what we did. Everything in the world could be broken down into the same small parts, like Baghra had said. What looked like magic was really the Grisha manipulating matter at its most fundamental levels.

Marie didn’t make fire. She summoned combustible elements in the air around us, and she still needed a flint to make the spark that would burn that fuel. Grisha steel wasn’t endowed with magic, but by the skill of Fabrikators, who did not need heat or crude tools to manipulate metal.

But if I understood what we did, I was less sure of how we did it. The grounding principle of the Small Science was “like calls to like,” but then it got complicated. Odinakovost was the “thisness” of a thing that made it the same as everything else. Everything could be broken down to the same small parts, and each of those parts contained pieces of everything else within them. Etovost was the “thatness” of a thing that made it different from everything else. Odinakovost connected Grisha to the world, but it was etovost that gave them an affinity for something like air, or blood, or in my case, light. Around then, my head started swimming.

One thing did stand out to me: the word the philosophers used to describe people born without Grisha gifts, otkazat’sya, “the abandoned.” It was another word for orphan.

 

* * * * *

 

Late one afternoon, I was plodding through a passage describing Grisha assistance with trade routes when I felt someone enter the room. I didn't pay it much attention until whoever it was walked up and stopped beside me. I looked up and cringed back in my chair. The Apparat was looming over me, his flat black pupils lit with peculiar intensity.

I glanced around the library. It was empty except for us, and despite the sun pouring through the glass ceiling, I felt a chill creep through me. I had to stop myself from wrapping warm light around my body to dispel the feeling.

He sat down in the chair beside me with a gust of musty robes, and the damp smell of tombs enveloped me. I tried to breathe through my mouth.

“Are you enjoying your studies, Alina Starkov?”

“Well enough,” I answered cautiously.

“I’m so glad,” he said. “But I hope you will remember to feed the soul as well as the mind. I am the spiritual adviser to all those within the palace walls. Should you find yourself worried or in distress, I hope you will not hesitate to come to me.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Good, good.” He smiled, revealing a mouth of crowded, yellowing teeth, his gums black like a wolf ’s. “I want us to be friends. It is so important that we are friends.”

“Ah. . .yes.”

“I would be pleased if you would accept a gift from me,” he said, reaching into the folds of his brown robes and removing a small book bound in red leather.

How could someone offering you a present sound so creepy?

Reluctantly, I leaned forward and took the book from his long, blue-veined hand. The title was embossed in gold on the cover: _Istorii Sankt’ya._

“The Lives of Saints?”

He nodded. “There was a time when all Grisha children were given this book when they came to school at the Little Palace.”

“Thank you,” I said, perplexed.

“Peasants love their Saints. They hunger for the miraculous. And yet they do not love the Grisha. Why do you think that is?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I said. “I suppose it's easier to like something miraculous when it's not staring you in the face and calling fire from the air.” I opened the book. Someone had written my name inside the cover. I flipped a few pages. Sankt Petyr of Brevno. Sankt Ilya in Chains. Sankta Lizabeta. Each chapter began with a full-page illustration, detailed and beautifully rendered in brightly colored inks.

“I think it is because the Grisha do not suffer the way the Saints suffer, the way the people suffer. But you have suffered, haven’t you, Alina Starkov? And I think. . .yes. I think you will suffer more.”

My head jerked up. I thought he might be threatening me, but his eyes were full of a strange sympathy that was even more frightening.

I glanced back down at the book in my lap. My finger had stopped on an illustration of Sankta Lizabeta as she had died, drawn and quartered in a field of roses. Her blood made a river through the petals. I snapped the book closed and sprang to my feet. “I should go.”

The Apparat rose, and for a moment I thought he would try to stop me. “You do not like your gift.”

“No, no. It’s very nice. Thank you. You've just reminded me that I have somewhere to be,” I babbled, giving him a tight smile.

I bolted past him through the library doors, and I didn’t take an easy breath until I was back in my room with the door shut behind me. I tossed the book of Saints into the bottom drawer of my dressing table and slammed it shut.

What did the Apparat want from me? Was he threatening me? Trying to warn me?

I took a deep breath, a tide of fatigue and confusion washing over me. I missed the easy rhythm of the Documents Tent, the comforting monotony of my life as a cartographer, when nothing more was expected of me than a few drawings, organizing the work of an underling, and a tidy worktable. I missed the familiar smell of inks and paper. Mostly, I missed Mal.

I’d written to him every week, sometimes every day, care of our regiment, but I hadn’t heard anything back. I knew the post could be unreliable and that his unit might have moved on from the Fold or might even be in West Ravka, but I still hoped that I would hear from him soon. I’d given up on the idea of him visiting me at the Little Palace. As much as I missed him, I couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing that I fit into my new life about as well as I’d fit into my old one, even after I was handed a special place in it.

Every night, as I climbed the stairs to my room after another disappointing, confusing, day, I would imagine the letter that might be waiting for me on my dressing table, and my steps would quicken. But the days passed, and no letter came.

Today was no different. I ran my hand over the empty surface of the table.

“Where are you, Mal?” I whispered. But there was no one there to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/4/16: Library scene corrected to account for Alina's web-net-mabob


	12. The Girl in Green

When I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

I had barely finished dressing one morning when someone pounded on my door. I opened it and Genya burst through, looked me up and down quickly, and grabbed my arm. “Come on!”

“What- I don't even have my shoes on!”

“Then get them and come on! I am not missing this.” She waited for me to grab my boots but yanked me out the door and down the hall before I could put them on. I would have been worried, but she didn't look upset or afraid. She looked almost. . .giddy.

“Genya what-”

She hurried me down the stairs. “Hush, and hurry up! This is going to be great!” Her voice was full of fiendish glee.

We got to the domed hall and seated ourselves at the Summoner's table, but every time I tried to question her, she just shushed me. She looked so excited she was practically bouncing in her chair. If Marie and Nadia had any objections to Genya's presence, they kept them to themselves. I caught them whispering and throwing dirty looks her way, but one look from me put a stop to it.

We four had managed some sort of peace (Marie and Nadia talking to me past Genya as if she weren't there) when the main doors blew open and a group of unfamiliar Grisha entered. I didn’t pay them much attention. Grisha in the Darkling’s service were always coming and going at the Little Palace, sometimes to recover from injuries received at the northern or southern front, sometimes on leave from other assignments.

Then Nadia gasped.

“Oh no,” groaned Marie.

Genya suppressed a smile and calmly sipped her tea.

I looked up and my stomach lurched as I recognized the raven-haired girl who had found Mal so fascinating back in Kribirsk.

“Who is she?” I whispered, watching the girl glide among the other Grisha, saying her hellos, her high laugh echoing off the golden dome.

I expected Genya to answer, but she seemed to be in her own world, watching the dark-haired summoner like a cat eyeing a mouse.

“Zoya,” muttered Marie. “She was a year ahead of us at school and she’s horrible.”

“Thinks she’s better than everyone,” added Nadia.

I raised my eyebrows. If Zoya’s sin was snobbery, then Marie and Nadia hardly had any business making judgments.

Marie sighed. “The worst part is that she’s kind of right. She’s an incredibly powerful Squaller, a great fighter, and look at her.”

I took in the silver embroidery on Zoya’s cuffs, the glossy perfection of her black hair, the big blue eyes fringed by impossibly dark lashes. She was almost as beautiful as Genya. I thought of Mal and felt a stab of pure jealousy shoot through me. But then I realized that Zoya had been stationed at the Fold. If she and Mal had. . .well, she might know if he was there, if he was all right. I pushed my plate away. The thought of asking Zoya about Mal made me a little nauseated.

As if she could feel my stare, Zoya turned from where she was chatting with some awestruck Corporalki and swept over to the Summoners’ table.

“Marie! Nadia! How are you?”

They stood to hug her, their faces plastered with huge, fake smiles.

“You look amazing, Zoya! How are you?” gushed Marie.

“We missed you so much!” squealed Nadia.

I suppressed a look of derision.

“I missed you, too,” Zoya said. “It’s so good to be back at the Little Palace. You can’t imagine how busy the Darkling’s kept me. And Genya! You look lovely, how have you been?”

“Quite well,” Genya said with suspicious casualness. “I've made a new friend, in fact. Have you met Alina? The Sun Summoner?” Genya gestured to me.

I stood up awkwardly as Zoya's beautiful blue eyes turned to me. When she saw my kefta, her jaw dropped, and the blood drained from her face.

A polite smile spread over Genya's perfect lips.

Zoya's mouth snapped shut with a click. Silence stretched on, quickly becoming awkward, until suddenly Zoya swept me into an embrace. “Of course! I remember seeing you in Kribirsk, but it's such an honor to finally be introduced.” she said loudly. But as she hugged me she whispered, “You stink of Keramzin.”

I stiffened. She released me, a smile playing on her perfect lips. I smiled back at her, pure acid under the expression. “Funny. You didn't seem to mind the smell on my friend.”

“Friend?” She said, a pretty, innocent frown on her lips.

I nodded, watching her closely. “A tracker in my unit. It's alright if you don't remember him, though. Judging from what he said about your _acquaintance_ the morning we went into the Shadow Fold, I doubt he remembers you, either.”

Marie and Nadia sucked in breaths and someone nearby stifled a giggle. Genya was the picture of polite ignorance. I watched Zoya and seethed underneath my impassive expression.

“Pity I don't recall. If he's a friend of yours, I'm sure he would haven been fantastic to know,” she said with a suggestive glint in her eye. “But perhaps if he did seek my company it was because he found something lacking elsewhere,” she finished in a near whisper, perfect smile still in place. Genya, standing close enough to hear, tensed. Then more loudly, Zoya said, “I’ll see you all later,” with a little wave. “I’m frantic for a bath.” And with that she sailed from the domed hall and through the double doors to the dormitories.

I stood there, my cheeks blazing. I felt like everyone must be gaping at me, but no one other than Genya seemed to have noticed what had just happened. I wanted to hit something. Instead, I let Genya pull me back to the table, though I didn't touch another bite of my food. I was so angry I was almost shaking.

“That was why you were in such a hurry to get me down here, I take it?” I asked quietly.

“I miss eating with you,” she said sincerely. “But yes, mostly I wanted to see the look on that bitch’s face when she saw you in the Darkling’s color.”

Despite myself, a grin crept onto my face. “It was pretty wonderful.”

“Wasn’t it?” Genya said dreamily.

"So," I said after she had finished her tea. "I've heard a rumor that you and I are friends. But we haven't even braided each others' hair or talked about boys. That's what girls are supposed to do when they're friends, right?"

She gave me an odd look.

I turned away self-consciously. "My best friend growing up was gorgeous. Most women who wanted to know me really only ended up wanting to know him. But in all seriousness. . .I'd like it if we were. You're the only person around here who doesn't treat me like I'm dressed in black. You're the only person who treats me like Alina."

Genya looked somehow a little sad. But when she spoke, her voice was bright and playful. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "I've already done your hair. So I suppose we're halfway. I'll just have to see if I can sneak away from the castle more often so we can catch up on the rest."

We finished at the table and she walked me to the library, talking about our encounter with Zoya and looking immensely satisfied.

 

* * * * *

 

Zoya's words stayed with me the rest of the day, through a mountain of reading I couldn't focus on, a session of practice with my lightwork that I couldn't get right, and an interminable lunch during which Zoya held forth on the journey from Kribirsk, the state of the towns bordering the Fold, and the exquisite lubok woodcuts she’d seen in one of the peasant villages, so loudly it could all be heard clearly from the Corporalki table where I sat between Iro and a Heartrender girl I didn't know. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed like every time she said “peasant” she looked directly at me. As she spoke, light glinted off the heavy silver bracelet gleaming at her wrist. It was studded with what looked like pieces of bone. An amplifier, I realized.

Things went from bad to dreadful when Zoya showed up at our combat lesson. Botkin hugged her, kissed both of her cheeks, and then proceeded to chatter back and forth with her in Shu. Was there anything this girl couldn’t do?

She’d brought along her friend with the chestnut curls, whom I remembered from the Grisha tent. They proceeded to giggle and whisper as I stumbled through the drills with which Botkin began every class, much less coordinated than usual because I couldn't focus. When we separated to spar, I wasn’t even surprised when Botkin paired me with Zoya.

“Is star pupil,” he said, grinning proudly. “Will help little girl.”

“Surely the Sun Summoner doesn’t need my help,” Zoya said with a smug smile.

I watched her closely. I wasn’t sure why this girl hated me so much, but I’d had just about enough of it, and I was done letting her get in my head.

We took our fighting stances, and Botkin gave the signal to start.

I managed to block Zoya’s first jab, but not the second. It caught me hard on the jaw and my head snapped back. I shook it off.

She danced forward and aimed a punch at my ribs. But some of Botkin’s training must have sunk in over the last few weeks. I dodged right and the blow glanced off me.

She flexed her shoulders and circled. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the other Summoners had left off sparring and were watching us. When my eyes darted to them, Zoya took advantage of my distraction and I took a hard strike to the gut. As I gasped for breath, she followed with an elbow. I managed to avoid it more by luck than skill.

She pressed her advantage and lunged forward.

I was weak and I was slow compared to everyone else here. I was used to that now. But Botkin had taught me to make use of my opponent’s strength.

I stepped to the side, and as she came in close, I hooked my leg around her ankle. Zoya went down hard.

The other Grisha broke into applause. But before I had a chance to even register my victory, Zoya sat up, her expression furious, her arm slashing through the air. I felt myself lifted off my feet as I sailed backward and slammed into the training room’s wooden wall with a stunned grunt. I heard something crack, and all the breath went out of my body as I slid to the ground.

“Zoya!” Botkin roared. “You do not use power. Not in these rooms. Never in these rooms!”

Dimly, I was aware of the other Grisha gathering around me, of Botkin calling for a Healer.

I tried to tell them I was fine, but I couldn’t gather enough breath, and it hurt savagely to try. I lay in the dirt, panting shallowly. Every time I tried to breathe, pain tore through my left side. A group of servants arrived, and when they lifted me onto the stretcher, I lost consciousness.

Marie and Nadia, Ruslan, and Natalya told me the rest when they came to visit me in the infirmary. Apparently I hadn't fainted - a Healer had slowed my heart rate until I fell into a deep sleep, then mended my broken ribs and the bruises Zoya had left on me.

“Botkin was furious.” Ruslan said.

Natalya nodded. “I’ve never seen him so angry. He threw Zoya out of the training rooms. I thought he might hit her himself.”

“Ivo says he saw Ivan take her through the domed hall to the Darkling’s council rooms, and when she came out, she was crying,” Marie said.

 _Good,_ I thought coldly. But when I remembered myself lying in a heap in the dirt, unable to move, I felt a burning wave of embarrassment.

“Why did she do it, though?” I asked as I tried to sit up. I’d had plenty of people dislike me or look down on me, and other women could be the worst of them. But Zoya actually seemed to hate me. “I've never done anything to her.” It wasn't like Mal could be the reason - his lack of feeling for me had always been clear, and he'd taken to her immediately. It still hurt to remember how he'd stared open-mouthed at her when the Summoner carriage had passed us on the road to Kribirsk.

Marie and Nadia gaped at me as if I’d taken a crack to the skull instead of the ribs. Natalya's eyebrows shot up.

"What?" I asked.

“It's because she’s jealous!” said Nadia.

“. . .You're kidding.” I said in disbelief. "Of what?"

Marie gave me a lopsided smile. “She can’t bear the idea of anyone else being the Darkling’s favorite, Alina.”

I laughed incredulously and then winced at the stab of pain in my side. “I suppose it's the color, right? If she only knew.” I would almost trade her at this point. Almost. Maybe she could even succeed where I was so abysmally failing.

“Of course you're his favorite,” Nadia said. “And it doesn't have anything to do with your kefta. We all know it." She exchanged a look with Marie.

"He looks at you," Marie said as if conveying a secret. "Every time he passes anywhere near you, he's always looking at you."

My jaw dropped and my heart gave a thud. Where was I when this supposedly happened?

"Zoya’s powerful and beautiful, but she’s just another Squaller. You’re the Sun Summoner.” Nadia’s cheeks flushed when she said this, and I knew I wasn’t imagining the tinge of envy in her voice.

I wondered how deep that envy went. Marie and Nadia treated Zoya as if they adored her, right up until she was out of ear shot. What did they say about me when I wasn't around? Even the Darkling wasn't immune to people's jealousy and anger.

“I don't think she's used to feeling like she's less than anyone,” Ruslan said. “She's been the best at everything since we were all children.” The other three nodded their agreement. “She's fierce and confident, and no one's ever held a candle to her except Ivan, but he's not another girl.” The Alkemi shrugged his graceful shoulders. “Most of us have felt jealous of someone at some time or another. I'm not sure Zoya has. I doubt she has the slightest idea how to handle it.”

“Plus she's a total witch,” Marie added. Nadia snorted a laugh and agreed.

“Maybe he’ll demote her!” squealed Marie.

“Maybe he’ll send her to Tsibeya!” crowed Nadia.

“Quit,” I snapped, surprising them and myself. They all stared at me. “I don't like her any more than you do. Less, maybe. But if she's as good a soldier as you all say she is, then she just needs to stay away from me and we'll all be fine,” I said harshly. I looked away, frowning, unsure of how much of that I actually believed, or even wanted to believe.

A Healer appeared from the shadows to shush them and send them on their way. Marie and Nadia promised to visit again the next day.

I must have fallen back asleep because, when I woke a few hours later, the infirmary was dark. The room was eerily quiet, the other beds unoccupied, the only sound the soft ticking of a clock.

I pushed myself up with a groan. I still felt a little sore, but it was hard to believe that I’d had two broken ribs just a few hours before.

My mouth was dry, and I had the beginning of a headache. I dragged myself out of bed with another groan and poured a glass of water from the pitcher at my bedside. Then I pushed open the window and took a deep breath of night air.

“Alina Starkov.”

I jumped and whirled with a gasp.

The Apparat emerged from the long shadows by the door.

“Did I startle you?” he asked.

“Obviously.” I bit out. How long had he been standing there? Had he been watching me sleep?

He seemed to glide silently across the room toward me, his ragged robes slithering over the infirmary floor. I took an involuntary step backward.

“I was very sorry to hear of your injury,” he said. “The Darkling should be more watchful of his charges.”

“Given that he doesn't hover over all of us every minute of the day and night, an injury or two is bound to happen. That's why we have healers.” _And we are all training to go to war,_ I didn't say.

“Ah, but you are not like the others, Alina Starkov. He should be more careful with you.”

“He's not my mother.”

“But you did not know a mother, did you? A mother's tenderness, a mother's care and love.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “That's hardly the point. I'm fine. Hale and hearty. Healthy as a horse. Fit as a fiddle.”

“Are you?” he said, regarding me in the moonlight. “You do not look well, Alina Starkov. It’s essential that you stay well.”

I was so tired of people telling me what I already knew about what was wrong with me. “People are human. We have off days. As I said, I'm fine. I need a good night's rest,” _and for you to stop showing up out of nowhere like a Saints-damned spectre,_ “and I'll be back to my usual.”

He stepped closer. His peculiar smell wafted over me, that strange mix of incense and mildew, and the scent of turned earth. I thought of the graveyard at Keramzin, the crooked headstones, the peasant women keening over new graves. I was suddenly very aware of the emptiness of the infirmary.

“Did you know that in some of the border villages, they are making altars to you?” murmured the Apparat.

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“Oh yes. The people are hungry for hope, and the icon painters are doing a booming business thanks to you.”

“I am not a Saint,” I said, appalled.

“It is a blessing, Alina Starkov. A benediction.” He stepped even closer to me. I could see the dark and matted hairs of his beard, the stained jumble of his teeth. “You are becoming dangerous, and you will become more dangerous still.”

“Dangerous how? To whom?”

“There is something more powerful than any army. Something strong enough to topple kings, and even Darklings. Do you know what that thing is?”

I shook my head, craning away from him.

“Faith,” he breathed, his black eyes wild. “Faith.”

He reached for me. I groped toward my bedside table and knocked the glass of water to the floor. It shattered loudly. Hurried footsteps pounded down the hall toward us. The Apparat stepped back, melting into the shadows.

The door burst open and a Healer entered, his red kefta flapping behind him. “Are you all right?”

I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say. But the Apparat had already slid soundlessly out the door.

“I'm. . .I. . .Yes. I'm going back to my room.” I hurried past him, and when he protested, I snapped, “come sleep next to my bed if you want, bit I am going somewhere with a door that locks.”

He didn't follow me, but I heard him calling for someone as I rushed down the wide passage, through the domed hall, and up to my room, locking the door behind me the moment I got inside and promising myself the entire way that I would commit myself to Baghra's training exercises like I never had before.

My hands were shaking. I wanted to dismiss the Apparat’s ramblings as nonsense, but I couldn’t. Not if people were really praying to the Sun Summoner, expecting me to save them. I remembered the Darkling’s dire words beneath the broken roof of the barn. _The age of Grisha power is coming to an end._ A divided Ravka won’t survive the new age. This wasn't just about me opening up trade and allowing more supplies into the country and stopping people from having to ever cross the Unsea again. If I couldn't close the Fold, Ravka may cease to be, absorbed into whichever nation could conquer her first. I wasn’t just failing myself or the Darkling or Baghra. I was failing all of Ravka.

 

* * * * *

 

No one had come after me, but I hadn't been able to sleep much and had heard voices outside of my door more than once during the night. When Genya came by the next morning, I told her about the Apparat’s visit, but she didn’t seem concerned by what he’d said or his strange behavior.

“He’s creepy,” she admitted. “But harmless.”

“He is not harmless. You should have seen him, he looked completely mad.”

“He’s just a priest.”

“That doesn't mean anything. Why was he even here?”

Genya shrugged. “Maybe the King asked him to pray for you.”

“From right behind me in a dark and deserted room, in the middle of the night? I’m not going back to the infirmary. I'm not sleeping anywhere without a lock on the door.”

Genya sniffed. “Well, that, at least, I can agree with. I went there looking for you and I wouldn’t want to stay there either.” Then she peered at me. “You look dreadful,” she said with her usual tact. “Why don’t you let me fix you up a bit?”

I gave her a look.

“Just let me get rid of the dark circles.”

“Maybe I like my dark circles. If the Healers had left some of the bruises on my face, I'd have a matching set. But I do need a favor.”

“Should I get my kit?” she asked eagerly.

I scowled at her. “Not that kind of favor. A personal one. I mentioned my friend yesterday. I've been close to him since I was eight.” She raised a brow at me and smirked. “Not like _that,_ Genya. Saints. He was injured on the Fold the day I was found. I. . .he's the person I've been writing to. The only person.” Her perfect brows rose. “But I’m not sure my letters are getting through.” I felt my cheeks flush and hurried on. “Would you find out if he’s okay and where he’s been stationed? I don’t know who else to ask, and since you’re always at the Grand Palace, I thought you might be able to help.”

“Of course, but. . .well, have you been checking the casualty lists?”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. Genya went to my desk for a paper and pen so I could write down Mal’s information for her.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t know what to make of his silence. I checked the casualty lists every single week, my heart pounding, my stomach in knots, terrified that I would see his name. And each week, I gave thanks to all the Saints that Mal was safe and alive, and then put a hand to my gut as it twisted, because any other reason I could think of that he wouldn't be writing would be devastating.

Maybe Mal was glad I was gone, glad to be free of old friendships and obligations and secrets. Maybe when I'd broken my promise to save us that day on the Fold. . . . But no. I had seen his face as I'd been dragged from the Grisha tent. _And maybe he’s been lying in a hospital bed somewhere and you’re being ridiculous,_ I chided myself.

Genya returned, and I wrote out Mal’s name, regiment, and unit number. She folded the paper and slipped it into the sleeve of her kefta.

“Thanks,” I said hoarsely.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now lie back so I can fix those dark circles.”

“Genya!”

“Lie back or you can forget about your little favor.”

My jaw dropped. “You are a tyrant.”

“I am marvelous.”

I glared at her, then flopped back against the pillows with a defeated huff.

After Genya left, I went to the infirmary and made it clear that I'd be staying in my own quarters. The Healer wasn’t happy about it, but I insisted. Maybe he felt insulted, but with the Apparat's visit fresh in my mind, I couldn't seem to care. I was barely even sore anymore anyway, and there was no way I was spending another night in that empty infirmary.

When I got back to my room, I took a bath and tried to read one of my theory books. Like yesterday, I couldn’t concentrate. I was dreading returning to my classes the next day, dreading another day of falling behind in Botkin's routines, and though I was now committed to being zealous about Baghra's insistence that I learn to keep my net out without thinking about it, I wasn't looking forward to another futile lesson with her. My days lately had felt like nothing but increasingly insistent reminders of every way in which I wasn't good enough. And I still hadn't seen the Darkling. He'd called Zoya to him after the training incident yesterday, but I hadn't heard from him.

The stares and gossip about me had died down a bit since I arrived at the Little Palace. People had grown more comfortable with my presence, and less afraid of my kefta. I also found that I had settled into the authority that seemed to come with wearing his color, at least a little, and everyone but Genya still treated me with a certain amount of deference because of it. But I had no doubt that my fight with Zoya would bring back the awkwardness and extra attention of my first days here.

As I rose and stretched, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above my dressing table. I crossed the room and scrutinized my face in the glass.

With Genya's work hiding my sleepless nights, I looked as I always had. But underneath the face I had come to know I could now see one I thought I'd left behind long ago: that of a girl who was weak, tired, scrawny, sick. Nothing like a real Grisha. The power was there, somewhere inside me, but I couldn’t reach it, and I didn’t know why. The harder I tried, the larger and more impassable whatever block I was feeling became.

Reflected in the mirror I could see the thick golden curtains at the windows, the brilliantly painted walls, the firelight glittering off the tiles in the grate. Zoya was awful, but she was also right. I didn’t belong in this beautiful world, and if I didn’t find a way to use my power properly, I never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. You guys, HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS I'M HALFWAY THROUGH.
> 
> I'm having some emotions, here. Probably you could tell.


	13. Unicorns

The next day wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Zoya was already in the domed hall when I entered. She sat by herself at the end of the Summoners’ table, eating her breakfast in silence. She didn’t look up as a few of the Grisha called their greetings to me, and I did my best to ignore her, too.

I savored every step of my walk down to the lake that night. The moon was bright, the air cold on my cheeks, and I wasn’t looking forward to the stuffy, windowless confines of Baghra’s hut. But when I climbed the steps to her door, I heard raised voices.

I hesitated and then knocked softly. The voices quieted abruptly, and after a moment, I pushed the door open and peeked inside. “Baghra?” I asked. The Darkling was standing by her tile oven, his face furious.

“Sorry,” I blurted, and began to hastily back out the door.

But Baghra just snapped, “In, girl. Don’t let the heat out.”

When I entered and shut the door, the Darkling gave me a small bow. “How are you, Alina?”

“I'm fine,” I managed uncertainly.

Suddenly Marie's words in the infirmary came back to me. _He looks at you. Every time he passes anywhere near you, he's always looking at you._ I felt a blush crawl up my face.

“She’s fine!” hooted Baghra. “She’s fine! She's no better than when she came here months ago, but she’s fine.”

I winced and wished I could disappear into my boots.

To my surprise, the Darkling said, “Leave her be.”

Baghra’s eyes narrowed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The Darkling sighed and ran his hands through his dark hair in exasperation. When he looked at me, there was a rueful smile on his lips, and his hair was going every which way. “Baghra has her own way of doing things,” he said.

“Don’t patronize me, boy!” Her voice cracked out like a whip. To my amazement, I saw the Darkling stand up straighter and then scowl as if he’d caught himself.

“Don’t chide me, old woman,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Angry energy crackled through the room. What had I walked into? I was about to slip out the door and leave them to finish whatever argument I’d interrupted when Baghra’s voice lashed out again.

“The boy thinks to get you an amplifier,” she said. “What do you think of that, girl?”

It was so strange to hear the Darkling called “boy” that it took me a moment to understand her meaning. But when I did, I felt a sinking sensation. Was he growing impatient after all? Questioning his decision to bring me here? Did he think I was a waste of time unless I had help? I didn't know if I'd be able to disagree right now, but that didn't change how I felt about it.

“I think it's lazy,” I said quietly.

Baghra laughed, though I wouldn't have called it a happy sound, and surprise flitted across the Darkling's face.

“I know you and your ancestors have been looking for a way to close the Shadow Fold,” I explained. “I get why you're in a hurry. But I don't like the idea of power I haven't earned. If it's in me, I want to know. And I think it is, I just have to figure out what's holding me back. If I can't do it on my own, _then_ I should get an amplifier. I'm not any happier getting whacked by her cane than she is wasting her time on me, but. . . I don't like the idea of a shortcut.”

Baghra made an approving sound. The Darkling's brow creased slightly.

“More people die every day we wait, Alina,” he said.

Baghra scoffed, and I looked at her in surprise. He shot her a disapproving look.

I realized he was right. I thought of Alexei. I thought of the soldiers and Grisha and almost me and Mal, almost everyone on the crossing that morning in Kribirsk. People died to the Unsea all the time, both those who tried to cross it and those who were choked by the lack of trade and supplies and the war that came with it.

“You're right,” I said softly. Then I laughed at myself harshly. “You're right. I don't get to tout my morals when people are dying and I can do something about it.” I looked at the Darkling, feeling determined. “What did you have in mind?”

The Darkling smiled and Baghra made a disgusted sound. We both ignored her, though I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “Have you ever heard of Morozova’s herd?” He asked me.

“Of course she has. She’s also heard of unicorns and the Shu Han dragons,” Baghra said mockingly.

An angry look passed over the Darkling’s features, but then he seemed to master himself. “May I have a word with you, Alina?” he inquired politely.

“Uh. . .of course,” I stammered.

Baghra snorted again.

“Would you like a handkerchief?” I snapped. She scowled, and the Darkling hid a smile and took me by the elbow to lead me out of the cottage, shutting the door firmly behind us. When we had walked a short distance down the path, he heaved a huge sigh and ran his hands through his hair again. “That woman,” he muttered.

It was hard not to laugh.

“What?” he said warily.

“I’ve just never seen you so,” I gestured at him vaguely, “. . .ruffled.”

“Baghra has that effect on people.”

“Yes, but on _you?”_ I laughed. “Was she your teacher, too?”

A shadow crossed his face that wiped the smile from mine. “Yes,” he said simply. “So what do you know about Morozova’s herd?”

I fidgeted. “Just, well, you know …”

He sighed. “Just children’s stories?”

I shrugged a shoulder, an apologetic half smile on my face.

“It’s all right,” he said. “What do you remember from the stories?”

I thought back, remembering Ana Kuya’s voice in the dormitories late at night. “They were white deer, magical creatures that appeared only at twilight.”

“They’re no more magical than we are. But they are ancient and very powerful.”

“You think they’re real?” I asked incredulously. I didn’t mention that I hadn’t been feeling especially magical lately.

“Yes, I do.”

“But Baghra doesn’t.”

“She usually finds my ideas ridiculous. What else do you remember?”

“Well,” I said with a laugh, “in Ana Kuya’s stories, they could talk, and if a hunter captured them and spared their lives, they granted wishes.”

He laughed then. It was the second time I’d ever heard his laugh, a lovely dark sound that rippled through the air. He was so beautiful when he laughed. Dazzled, I spoke without thinking. “You should do that more often.”

A look of surprise flitted across his face, and his eyes fixed on me. I flushed. “So the herd,” I went on quickly. “We're after wish-granting?” I asked with a half grin, inwardly squashing down on my mortification.

“Well, that part definitely isn’t true.”

“But the rest is?”

“Kings and Darklings have been searching for Morozova’s herd for centuries. My hunters claim they’ve seen signs of them, though they’ve never seen the creatures themselves.”

“And you believe them?”

His slate-colored gaze was cool and steady. “My men don’t lie to me.”

I felt a chill skitter up my spine. Knowing what the Darkling could do, I wouldn’t be keen on lying to him either. I nodded uneasily, trying to pretend I didn't think I should have left that question unasked.

“If Morozova’s stag can be taken, its antlers can be made into an amplifier.” He reached out and tapped the hollow between my collarbones. I nearly jumped - even that brief contact was enough to send a jolt of surety through me.

“You mean a necklace?” I asked, trying to picture it, still feeling the tap of his fingers at the base of my throat.

He nodded. “The most powerful amplifier ever known.”

My jaw dropped. “And you want to give it to me?”

He nodded again.

“Why wouldn't you take it for yourself?”

I felt Baghra open the door of her hut and move to stand on her porch, but kept my eyes on him.

“I'm already an amplifier. It wouldn't work for me.”

“Ok, but wouldn’t it just be easier for me to get a claw or a fang or, I don’t know, pretty much anything else?”

He shook his head. “If we have any hope of destroying the Fold, we need the stag’s power.”

“But maybe if I had one to practice with—”

“You know it doesn’t work that way.”

“I do?”

He frowned. “Haven’t you been reading your theory?”

I gave him a look and said, “There’s a lot of theory.”

He surprised me by smiling. “I forget that you’re new to this.”

“That makes one of us,” I muttered. Then I gave an overdramatic sigh. “But I can't blame you. I am very forgettable.”

He studied me. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Deride yourself and then pretend you're joking.”

For a moment, I was taken aback. I wanted to tell him I didn't mean it, but to my surprise, I found that wasn't entirely true.

“I guess. . . .” I had to think about the answer. “When I was young, I didn't know anything about Grisha. I didn't know they-” I sighed. _”We_ were all beautiful. I was a sickly thing, too small, too pale, never ate enough or slept enough.” I laughed bitterly. According to Baghra and Botkin, that was still the case. “It got better once I started using my powers, but I still wasn't much to look at.

“Mal, the tracker friend I grew up with?"

"You grew up with him?" he interrupted.

I realized my lapse and flushed. Somehow, I had forgotten that as far as he knew, we'd only grown up in the same place. I hoped the color on my cheeks wouldn't be visible in the moonlight and nodded. "He got handsome while we were still more or less young, and I suppose I ended up with kind of a complex about it. We were always together, but people tended to overlook me. They'd rather push me out of the way to get to him.” He had never let them, but they'd tried all the same.

“I didn't start looking like this,” I gestured to myself, and his eyes followed my hand, “until right around the time we were conscripted. By then my job was to _be_ forgettable, because no one could find out what I was.”

Thee Darkling was looking at me so closely that my heart started pounding. “It wasn't long ago that most Grisha had stories like that,” he said quietly, looking as if he were somewhere else for a moment. “Hiding, running, keeping what they were a secret. But then it meant death, or worse.” He had had to live in secret, hadn't he? Future Darklings had always lived in seclusion to prevent assassinations until it was time for them to take up the position. I wondered what it must have been like not only to have to hide, but to have to do so without someone like Mal. Had he had a friend wherever he'd lived before coming to Os Alta? Did he have any now? I doubted it - he never seemed happy.

I smiled at him. “And you fixed that. You gave Grisha somewhere to belong. I never meant to snub that. I didn't know anything, I had no idea how important I might be, and. . . ” _Mal._ “I didn't want to be an orphan again.” It wasn't a lie, not really. It just wasn't the whole truth or the main reason.

“Do you feel that way now, Alina? Like an orphan?”

I didn't answer right away. When I did, it was with a harsh laugh. “I think I feel more that way now than I ever have.” I looked away. Maybe I'd had to deny part of myself before, but at least I'd been with my best friend.

The Darkling sighed softly and gave me a wan smile. “It will change.”

“You say that with such confidence. I'm not sure how much of that I have left, especially in my powers.”

“Is it that bad?”

To my embarrassment, I felt a lump well up in my throat. I swallowed it down. “You heard Baghra. I haven't improved. And it's not as if I'm not trying.”

“It will happen, Alina. I’m not worried.”

“You’re not?”

“No. And even if I were, once we have the stag, it won’t matter.”

I felt a surge of frustration.

“If no one’s found Morozova’s herd in all this time, what makes you think you’ll find it now?” I asked.

“Because this was meant to be. The stag was meant for you, Alina. I can feel it.” He looked at me. His hair was still a mess, and in the bright moonlight, he looked more handsome and more human than I’d ever seen him. “I guess I’m asking you to trust me,” he said.

I thought for a long moment. He'd taken me from my life. He'd brought me here, where he'd raised me above other Grisha, and where I felt more inadequate and misplaced every day. He said we were alike, and then all but ignored me. But when I looked at him as he was now, like this. . . “Okay,” I said. “But hurry it up.”

He laughed again, and I felt a pleased flush creep over my cheeks. Then his expression became serious. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Alina,” he said. “You and I are going to change the world.”

After a stunned silence, I gave a nervous laugh. “I'm not the world-changing type.”

“Just wait,” he said.

I smiled. “Maybe.” I gave a little laugh and shook my head. “You haven't been waiting for me, though. You don't know me. You've been waiting for this.” I held my hand up and summoned warm, soft light over my palm and fingers. His eyes went to it.

_He looks at you. Every time he passes anywhere near you, he's always looking at you._

I felt a twist in my stomach. Maybe he looked at me, but It was only because I was the Sun Summoner. Like everyone else here, I wasn't Alina Starkov to him. I was the solution to his problems, the answer he'd been searching for, and nothing else.

“I could be a one-eyed leper and you'd probably still be thrilled,” I said with a wry smile, hoping I was hiding the sadness behind it. Only one person had ever really cared about me for me, and he was hundreds of miles away.

“I wouldn't say that,” he said softly, and when he looked at me with those gray quartz eyes, my heart gave a little thump. I thought he was going to say something more, but abruptly he stepped back, a troubled look on his face. “Good luck with your lessons,” he said. He gave me a short bow and turned on his heel to walk up the path to the lakeshore. But he’d only gone a few steps before he turned back to me. “Alina,” he said. “About the stag?”

“Yes?”

“Please keep it to yourself. Most people think it’s just a children’s story, and I’d hate to look a fool.”

I snorted. “As if you could. But I won’t say anything,” I promised. “Apparently I'm kind of good at keeping secrets.”

A smile played at his lips. He nodded and, without another word, turned to leave.

I looked down at my Kefta, nearly invisible in the darkness. I thought about how differently everyone treated me because of it, and how it was nothing compared to the way people acted around him. I thought of how lonely it felt when others didn't treat you as a person. I wondered if the Darkling had anyone he could be. . .whoever he was around.

“Wait,” I said.

He stopped again and looked at me.

“How are you?”

He looked confused.

“Does anyone ask you that?”

“. . .No.”

“Right. I didn't think so. So. . .how are you?”

He looked at me for a long time before he answered. I looked back and tried not to fidget.

“Hopeful,” he finally said.

I canted my head at him.

He smiled. “Goodnight, Alina.” He gave a slight bow of his head and strode away. I felt a little dazed, and like a complete fool. I wondered, as I seemed to much more around him than I was used to, if I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Goodnight,” I whispered, feeling confused.

When I looked up, Baghra was watching me. “Hmph,” she snorted, and then she turned her back on me, too.

 

* * * * *

  
After my conversation with the Darkling, I took my first opportunity to visit the library. There was no mention of the stag in any of my theory books, but I did find a reference to Ilya Morozova, one of the first and most powerful Grisha.

There was also plenty about amplifiers. The books were very clear on the fact that a Grisha could have only one amplifier in his or her lifetime and that once a Grisha owned an amplifier, it could be possessed by no one else: “The Grisha claims the amplifier, but the amplifier claims the Grisha, as well. Once it is done, there can be no other. Like calls to like, and the bond is made.”

The reason for this wasn’t entirely clear to me, but it seemed to have something to do with a check on Grisha power.

“The horse has speed. The bear has strength. The bird has wings. No creature has all of these gifts, and so the world is held in balance. Amplifiers are part of this balance, not a means of subverting it, and each Grisha would do well to remember this or risk the consequences.”

Another philosopher wrote, “Why can a Grisha possess but one amplifier? I will answer this question instead: What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men.”

Sitting beneath the library’s glass dome, I thought of the Black Heretic. The Darkling had said that the Shadow Fold was the result of his ancestor’s greed. Was that what the philosophers meant by consequences? For the first time, it occurred to me that the Fold was the one place where the Darkling was helpless, where his powers meant nothing. The Black Heretic’s descendants had suffered for his ambition. Still, I couldn’t help but think that it was Ravka that had been made to pay in blood.

 

* * * * * 

  
Fall turned to winter, and cold winds stripped the branches in the palace gardens bare. Our table was still laden with fresh fruit and flowers furnished from the Grisha hothouses, where they made their own weather. But even juicy plums and purple grapes did little to improve my appetite, which was getting worse along with my sleep.

Somehow I’d thought that my conversation with the Darkling might change something in me. I wanted to believe the things he’d said, and standing by the lakeshore, I almost had. But nothing changed. I still couldn’t get past the wall in myself. I still felt like only part of a person.

All the same, I felt a bit less miserable about it. The Darkling had asked me to trust him, and if he believed that the stag was the answer, then all I could do was hope he was right, and continue working to prove myself in the meantime. I even let some of the other Grisha drag me to the banya a couple of times and to one of the ballets at the Grand Palace. I even let Genya do my hair and put a little color on my face before I went.

My new attitude infuriated Baghra.

“You’re not even trying anymore!” she shouted. “You’re waiting for some magical deer to come save you? For your pretty necklace? You might as well wait for a unicorn to put its head in your lap, you stupid thing.”

I snorted. “You know perfectly well that I'm trying. Maybe you're just upset that I have something to look forward to.”

When she railed at me, I just shrugged. She was right about one thing: I was tired of failing. At least now I knew that I could do what needed to be done in the end, even if I wouldn't be able to do it under my own power. I wasn’t like the other Grisha, and it was time I accepted that. Besides, some horribly bratty part of me loved knowing that I could drive her into a fit.

I didn’t know what punishment Zoya had received, but she continued to ignore me. She’d been barred from the training rooms, and I’d heard she would be returning to Kribirsk after the winter fete. Occasionally, I caught her glaring at me or giggling behind her hand with her little group of Summoner friends, but when she did, I just stared her down coldy until she looked away or walked off.

Still, I couldn’t shake the sense of my own failure. When the first snow came, I woke to find a new kefta waiting for me on my door. It was made of heavy black wool and had a hood lined in thick golden fur. I put it on, but it was hard not to feel like a fraud, like I wasn't earning it.

After picking at my breakfast, I made the familiar walk to Baghra’s cottage. We had resumed having lessons during the day, and almost all she had me do anymore was meditate. She said I needed to figure out why I was holding myself back. And she said I could stop when “you get over the fool notion that you have to call on the light to be connected to it,” whatever that meant. Did Tidemakers feel the fish swimming through the lake? Did Squallers feel blades of grass and particles of dust? I had asked Genya, but she just shrugged and I felt a pang of guilt when she reminded me that she hadn't trained like other Grisha.

And always Baghra asked me if I had my Saints-forsaken light out. She had even started sending a servant to wake me up in the middle of the night or interrupt me during the day, at meals, training with Botkin, reading in the library, just to ask me if my net was out. All I hated more than the fact that she was doing it was the fact that it was working. It was all she let me think about, and I found as the weeks went on that when I caught myself daydreaming or got distracted – times when I would normally have dropped the net without realizing it – it was still there when I came back to it. It was becoming as natural and effortless as breathing.

I walked the gravel paths to her hut, cleared of snow by Inferni and sparkling beneath the weak winter sun. I was almost all the way to the lake when a servant caught up with me.

I sighed and turned to her, ready for the inevitable question, but she only handed me a folded piece of paper and bobbed a curtsy before scurrying back up the path. I recognized Genya’s handwriting.

 

_Malyen Oretsev’s unit has been stationed at the Chernast outpost in northern Tsibeya for six weeks. He is listed as healthy. You can write to him care of his regiment._

_The Kerch ambassadors are showering the Queen with gifts. Oysters and sandpipers packed in dry ice (vile) and almond candies! I’ll bring some by tonight.—G_

 

Mal was in Tsibeya. He was safe, alive, far from the fighting, probably hunting winter game.

I was grateful. I was glad. And still my heart squeezed painfully.

 _You can write to him care of his regiment._ I’d been writing to him care of his regiment for months.

I thought of the last letter I’d sent.

 _Dear Mal,_ I’d written. _I haven’t heard from you, so I assume you’ve met and married a volcra and that you’re living comfortably on the Shadow Fold, where you have neither light nor paper with which to write. Or, possibly, your new bride ate both your hands._

I’d filled letters with descriptions of Botkin, the Queen’s snuffling dog, and the Grisha’s curious fascination with peasant customs. I’d told him about beautiful Genya and the pavilions by the lake and the marvelous glass dome in the library. I’d told him about mysterious Baghra and the orchids in the hothouse and the birds painted above my bed. Sometimes, all I wrote was a few words. _Write back, you ass. -Alina_ It was rare that I didn't write him at least twice each week. I hadn’t told him about Morozova’s stag or the fact that I was essentially failing as a Grisha or that I still missed him every single day.

When I was done with the most recent letter, I’d hesitated and then hastily scrawled at the bottom, _I don’t know if you got my other letters. This place is more beautiful than I can describe, but I would trade it all to spend an afternoon skipping stones with you at Trivka’s pond. Please write._

But he was fine. He had gotten my letters. What had he done with all of them? Had he even read them? Had he sighed with embarrassment when the fifth and the tenth and the twentieth arrived?

I cringed. _Please write, Mal. Please don’t forget me, Mal._

Pathetic, I thought, angrily brushing tears away.

I stared out at the lake. It was starting to freeze. I thought of the creek that ran through Duke Keramsov’s estate. Every winter, Mal and I had waited for that creek to freeze so we could skate on it.

I crumpled Genya’s note in my fist and set it aflame, watching it fall to the ground. I owed Mal. And I so badly wanted to believe that all of this was a misunderstanding. So I would send one more letter. I would let Genya do my hair and dress up my face. I would put on my black kefta, and I would hand it to the courier personally as they were on their way out of Os Alta. I would make sure they knew how urgent and important it was that it be delivered. If I still didn't hear back after that, I would know it was because Mal was done with me.

Part of me didn’t want to think about him anymore, because I felt I knew that there wasn't going to be a letter from him. I wished I could blot out every memory of Keramzin. Mostly I wished I could go back to my room and have a good cry. But I couldn’t. I had to spend another heartwarming morning making no progress at all with Baghra.

I took my time making my way down the lake path, then walked up the steps to Baghra’s hut and banged open the door.

As usual, she was sitting by the fire, warming her bony figure by the flames. I plunked myself down in the chair opposite her and waited.

Baghra let out a short bark of laughter. “So you’re angry today, girl? What do you have to be angry about? Are you sick of waiting for your magical white deer?”

I said nothing.

“Speak up, girl.”

On any other day, I would have lied, made a joke of it, told her I was fine, said that I was tired. But I guess I’d reached my breaking point, because I snapped. “I’m sick of of everything, _old woman,_ ” I said coldly. “I’m sick of eating rye and herring for breakfast. I’m sick of wearing this stupid kefta and this stupid color. I’m sick of being pummeled by Botkin, and stared and and whispered about, and surrounded by other Grisha like they're birds looking for crumbs. I'm sick of failing and not knowing why, and I’m sick to death of you.”

I thought she would be furious, but instead she just peered at me. With her head cocked to one side and her eyes glittering black in the firelight, she looked like a very mean sparrow.

“No,” she said slowly. “No. It’s not that. There’s something else. What is it? Is the poor little girl homesick?”

I snorted. “Homesick for what?”

“You tell me, girl. What’s so bad about your life here? New clothes, a soft bed, hot food at every meal, the chance to be the Darkling’s pet.”

“I'm no one's pet,” I snarled. “And if luxury and comfort were the answer to all of life's problems, the Darkling wouldn't be cold and the king wouldn't be a moron.” I didn't even flinch as I spoke treason.

“But you want to be his pet,” she jeered. “Don’t bother lying to me. You’re like all the rest. I saw the way you looked at him.”

My cheeks burned. “If you think that's what you saw then you're blind as well as ancient. Maybe I want to know him. Maybe I might even want to care about him. Maybe I want a friend. Maybe I want to know someone who understands what it's like to feel alone. But I'd die before I was anyone's pet,” I spat.

“Feh,” she scoffed. “A thousand girls would sell their own mothers to be in your shoes, and yet here you are, miserable and sulking like a child. So tell me, girl. What is your sad little heart pining for?”

“A thousand girls can have it! Let them know what it feels like to be nothing and no one! To fail at everything they do. To be alone!” She was right, of course. I knew very well that I was homesick for my best friend. But now I was sure that my best friend didn't want me. I wasn’t about to tell her any of that.

I stood up, my chair making a deafening screech on the floor. “This is a waste of time. I can practice on my own, and if I want to get yelled at and insulted, I'll just go train with Botkin.”

“Is it a waste of your time? What else do you have to do with your days? Make maps? Fetch inks for some old cartographer?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a mapmaker!”

“Of course not. And there’s nothing wrong with being a lizard either. Unless you were born to be a hawk.”

I flushed in anger and embarrassment. “I’ve had enough of this,” I snarled, and turned my back on her. I was close to tears and I refused to cry in front of this spiteful old woman.

“Where are you going?” she called after me, her voice mocking. “What’s waiting for you out there?”

“Nothing!” I shouted at her. “Nothing and no one!”

As soon as I said it, the truth of the words hit me so hard that it left me breathless. I gripped the door handle and sagged, feeling suddenly dizzy.

In that moment, the memory of the Grisha Examiners came rushing back to me.

 

_I am in the sitting room at Keramzin. A fire is burning in the grate. The heavyset man in blue has hold of me and he is pulling me away from Mal._

_I feel Mal’s fingers slip as his hand is torn from mine._

_The young man in purple picks Mal up and drags him into the library, slamming the door behind him. I kick and thrash. I can hear Mal shouting my name._

_The other man holds me. The woman in red slides her hand around my wrist. I feel a sudden rush of pure certainty wash over me._

_I stop struggling. A call rings through me. Something within me rises up to answer._

_I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m kicking up from the bottom of a lake, about to break the surface, my lungs aching for air._

_The woman in red watches me closely, her eyes narrowed._

_I hear Mal’s voice through the library door. Alina, Alina._

_I know then. I know that we are different from one another. Terribly, irrevocably different._

_Alina. Alina!_

_I make my choice. I grab hold of the thing inside me and push it back down._

_“Mal!” I shout, and begin to struggle once more._

_The woman in red tries to keep hold of my wrist, but I wriggle and wail until finally she lets me go._

 

I leaned against the door to Baghra’s hut, trembling. At last, I understood.

Before Mal, Keramzin had been a place of terrors, long nights spent crying in the dark, older children who ignored me, cold and empty rooms. But then Mal arrived and all of that changed. The dark hallways became places to hide and play. The lonely woods became places to explore. Keramzin became our palace, our kingdom, and I wasn’t afraid anymore.

Every day of my life since the examiners had come, every waking minute, had been filled with a chant, with the same knowledge, anchored into dire reality by the mind of a scared, young girl: _I can't get too strong. My power is fun, my power is a game, but I mustn't truly use it. I can't let them see, or I will lose everything._

Mal was all the safety I had in the world. And truly using my power meant having that torn away from me. I’d walled off my abilities and held that wall in place with my energy and will, without ever realizing it. I’d used up pieces of myself to keep it there.

I remembered growing up with him, watching as he came into his body and wondering why I didn't. Then wondering why it took me so much longer and happened so much more slowly. As if I could be more, should be more, but just. . . wasn't. I remembered coming to the Little Palace and wondering why I looked like so much less than the other Grisha.

 _And now?_ I asked myself, pressing my forehead against the cool wood of the door, my whole body shaking.

Now Mal had been torn away anyway, despite everything I had done to prevent it. And he didn't care. Mal had let go so easily.

The only person in the world who truly knew me had decided I wasn’t worth the effort of a few words. But I was still holding on. Despite all the luxuries of the Little Palace, despite my newfound powers, despite Mal’s silence, I held on.

I fell to my knees, hand still clutching the doorknob.

Baghra was right. I’d thought I was making such an effort, working harder than I ever had at anything, but deep down, some part of me just wanted to go home to Mal. Some part of me hoped that this had all been a mistake, that eventually the Darkling would realize his error and send me back to the regiment, that Mal would realize how much he’d missed me, that we’d grow old together in our meadow. Mal had already moved on, but I was still standing frightened before those three cloaked figures, holding tight to his hand.

It was time to let go. That day on the Shadow Fold, Mal had saved my life, and I had saved his. Maybe that had been meant to be the end of us.

The thought filled me with grief, grief for the dreams we’d shared, for the love I’d felt, for the hopeful girl I would never be again. That grief flooded through me, dissolving a knot that I hadn’t even known was there. I closed my eyes, feeling tears slide down my cheeks, and I reached out to the thing within me that I’d kept chained and locked away for so long. _I’m sorry,_ I whispered to it. _I'm so sorry._

_And I'm ready now._

I called and the light answered with a speed and rightness like nothing I had ever felt. It rushed toward me from every direction, skimming over the lake, skittering over the golden domes of the Little Palace, under the door and through the walls of Baghra’s cottage. I felt it everywhere. I opened my hands and the light filled the room, illuminating the stone walls, the old tile oven, and every angle of Baghra’s strange face, as brightly as it had when she had taken my wrist the first day we'd met. It bloomed right through me, and for the first time, I understood what Baghra meant when she said it was part of me. It flowed through me, surrounded me, blazing with heat, more powerful and more pure than ever before because at last, I welcomed all of it. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to shout. At last, I felt as if I fit – not in a place or with a person, but within myself.

“Good,” said Baghra, squinting in the sunlight. “Very good. Now we work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then there was that one time Alina followed Ivan around, invisible, pelting him with the occasional snowball from the safety of the treeline.


	14. Flushed and Boneless

Suddenly, lots of things seemed easy. So easy, in fact, that I realized I hadn't even known how much I had really been struggling. I slept deeply and dreamlessly every night and woke refreshed, and my appetite came back with a vengeance. Food was a revelation: bowls of porridge heaped with sugar and cream, plates of skate fried in butter, fat plums and hothouse peaches, the clear and bitter taste of kvas. It was as if that moment in Baghra’s cottage was my first full breath and I had awakened into a new life.

Since none of the other Grisha knew that I’d been struggling, they were all a little baffled by the change in me. I didn’t offer any explanations, and Genya let me in on some of the more hilarious rumors.

“Sergei and Iro were speculating that the Fjerdans had infected you with some disease.”

“I thought Grisha didn’t get sick.”

“Exactly!” she said. “That’s why it was so very sinister. But apparently the Darkling cured you by feeding you his own blood and an extract of diamonds.”

“That’s. . .creative.”

“Oh that’s nothing. Zoya actually tried to put it around that you were possessed.”

I laughed, hard.

My lessons with Baghra were still difficult. I had thought she'd been pitiless before, but I had been wrong. At least now that it made me feel so much more alive, I relished any chance to use my power, and I felt like I was making progress. At first, I’d been nervous every time I got ready to call the light, afraid that the wall I'd demolished would have somehow rebuilt itself and I would lose what I had finally gained.

“It isn’t some animal that's going to shy away from you when you come close,” she'd snap. “It doesn't choose whether or not to answer your call. It will act with as much power and confidence as you feel, so quit treating it like some skittish hare! Your power serves you because that is its purpose, because it cannot help but serve you. It's the same as your heart beating or your lungs breathing. Quit strangling it and let it work!” she barked.

Sometimes I felt like there was a shadow in Baghra’s words, a second meaning she wanted me to understand. But the work I was doing was hard enough without trying to guess at the hidden messages of an angry old woman. If it was important enough, she'd just tell me.

She drove me hard, pushing me to expand my reach and my control. She forced me to call the light again, and again, and again, until I could almost do it without thinking. She resumed night lessons so I had to practice when it was harder for me to find light to summon. She had me hold it at its brightest until I felt like I would collapse. Then, when it finally sputtered out and my brow was sweaty and my limbs were shaking from effort, she would slam her cane down on the ground and shout, “Not good enough!”

Usually I just gritted my teeth and tried harder, tried to find greater depths in the well of my power. I found to a certain extent that it was like a muscle: the more I used it, the stronger it became and the easier it was to use. That, or I tried not to grab her cane out of her bony hands and hit her with it.

“Do you think this is a game, girl? Do you think the volcra will care if you're tired or weak? Do you think they'll wait for you to rest in the middle of the Fold?”

“I’m doing my best,” I ground out.

“Pah!” she spat. “The world doesn't care if you do your best, it cares whether you fail or succeed. Do it again and do it right.”

My lessons with Botkin by comparison were practically an epiphany. As I ate and slept regularly and was finally able to call on the full extent of my power for the first time in my life, I found a speed and strength and stamina I had never known. Botkin put me through brutal combat drills and seemingly endless runs through the palace grounds, but I found myself enjoying most of the challenges. It was a thrill, learning what this new, stronger body could do, and I was determined to never fall behind again.

I doubted I’d ever be able to outspar the old mercenary, but the Fabrikators had helped even the field further. They’d produced a pair of fingerless leather gloves for me that were lined with little mirrors—the mysterious glass discs David had shown me on that first day in the workshops. With a flick of the wrist, I could slide a mirror between my fingers and, with Botkin’s permission, I practiced bouncing flashes of light off them and into my opponent’s eyes much faster and with more finesse than I would manage otherwise. I worked with them until they felt almost natural in my hands, like extensions of my own fingers.

Botkin was still gruff and critical, and took every opportunity to call me useless, but once in a while I thought I glimpsed a hint of approval on his weathered features.

Late in winter, he took me aside after a long lesson in which I’d actually managed to land a blow to his ribs (and been thanked for it with a hard cuff across my jaw).

“Here,” he said, handing me a heavy knife in a steel and leather sheath. “Always keep with you.”

With a jolt, I saw that it was no ordinary knife. It was Grisha steel. “Thank you,” I breathed, running my fingers along the sheath reverently.

“Not ‘thank you,’” he said. He tapped the ugly scar at his throat. “Steel is earned.”

When I got back to my room that evening, I took the Fjerdan assassin's dagger from its place on my table, wrapped it in a piece of cloth, and tucked it away in a drawer.

Winter looked different to me than it ever had before. When I wasn't putting in extra time studying or practicing, I spent sunny afternoons skating on the lake or sledding on the palace grounds with the other Grisha. Sometimes, though not often, I even got people from the different Orders to come out together. Snowy evenings were spent in the domed hall, gathered around the tile ovens, drinking kvas and gorging ourselves on sweets. We celebrated the feast of Sankt Nikolai with huge bowls of dumpling soup and kutya made with honey and poppy seeds. Some of the other Grisha left the palace to go on sleigh rides and dogsledding excursions in the snow-blanketed countryside surrounding Os Alta, but for security reasons, I was still confined to the palace grounds, which made getting my last letter to Mal difficult.

I had stopped sending letters to him through Genya, and instead kept one last note tucked away under my kefta any time I was outside of my room. If I wanted to personally put it into the hands of the military courier, I would have to gain access to the outer ring of the city, which had so far proven difficult. I'd made several attempts to leave the palace grounds without being discovered, but the large golden gates were always shut and guarded. Short of scaling a sheer wall or getting Genya involved and then asking her to lie for me, I had yet to find a way through.

Other than that, I didn’t mind being cut off from going out with the other Grisha. We were more comfortable with one another now: people avoided me less as I walked around the grounds of the Little Palace, and less often flocked to fill seats near me whenever I was in the grand hall. I had stopped cutting myself off from the other Grisha, as the Darkling had asked, but I doubted I would ever enjoy spending time with most of them. Some were interesting or funny, others were friendly or smart, but they all still saw me as a black kefta. And anyone who wasn't out on assignment or working directly for the Darkling was almost ten years my junior. I didn't have much in common with them. It was true that we were all Grisha, but I hadn't grown up in the Little Palace like they had. I wondered what it must be like for the Darkling, being so much older than everyone around him. I remembered when he had called the King a child, and thought that to him, that must be exactly what he seemed like. I was much happier sitting in my room with Genya, drinking tea and talking by the fire. I loved to hear the often ridiculous court gossip, and even better were the tales of the opulent parties at the Grand Palace. My favorite was the story of the massive pie that a count had presented to the King, and the dwarf who had burst out of it to hand the tsaritsa a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

At the end of the season, the King and the Queen would host a final winter fete that all the Grisha would attend. Genya claimed it would be the most lavish party of all. Every noble family and high court officer would be there, along with military heroes, foreign dignitaries, and the tsarevitch, the King’s eldest son and heir to the throne. I’d once seen the Crown Prince riding around the palace grounds on a white gelding that was roughly the size of a house. He was almost handsome, but he had the King’s weak chin and eyes so heavy-lidded that it was hard to tell if he was tired or just supremely bored.

“Probably drunk,” said Genya, stirring her tea. “He devotes all his time to hunting, horses, and imbibing. Drives the Queen mad.”

“I would imagine, what with the war that's been going on for generations,” I said drily. “I'd want him more concerned with matters of state, too.”

“Oh she doesn’t care about that. She just wants him to find a bride instead of gallivanting around the world spending mounds of gold buying up ponies.”

“What about the other one?” I asked. I knew the King and Queen had a younger son, but I’d never actually seen him.

“Sobachka?”

“You call the royal prince ‘puppy?’” I laughed.

“That’s what everyone calls him.” She lowered her voice. “And there are rumors that he isn’t strictly royal.”

I nearly choked on my tea. “No!”

“Only the Queen knows for sure. He’s a bit of a black sheep anyway. He insisted on doing his military service in the infantry rather than in camps and officer's tents, then he apprenticed to a gunsmith.”

“And he’s never actually at court?”

“Not in years. I think he’s off studying shipbuilding or something equally dull. He’d probably get along well with David,” she added sourly.

“What do you two talk about, anyway?” I asked curiously. I still didn’t quite understand Genya’s fascination with the Fabrikator.

She sighed. “The usual. Life. Love. The melting point of iron ore.” She wound a curl of bright red hair around her finger, and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “He’s actually quite funny when he lets himself be.”

“Really?”

Genya shrugged. “I think so.”

I patted her arm. “He’ll come around. He’s shy, not blind and stupid.”

“Maybe I should lie down on a table in the workroom and wait to see if he welds something to me.”

“That is the way most great love stories begin.” I nodded sagely.

She laughed, and I felt a sudden niggle of guilt. Genya talked so easily about David, but I’d never confided in her about Mal.

But then again, there was nothing to confide.

 

* * * * *

  
One quiet afternoon when the other Grisha had ventured out of Os Alta, Genya convinced me to sneak into the Grand Palace, and we spent hours looking through the clothes and shoes in the Queen’s dressing room. Genya insisted that I try on a pale pink silk gown studded with riverpearls, and when she laced me up in it and stuck me in front of one of the giant golden mirrors, I had to look twice.

There weren't a lot of mirrors in military encampments, and I'd never spent much time in front of them besides. I had known I was beautiful – the way other people treated me and acted around me told me that. But I had learned to avoid them when I was young and had never quite outgrown the habit. The woman I saw standing next to Genya in the glass now was almost a stranger. She had rosy cheeks, an elegant face, sleek, shiny hair and. . .a figure. I was still small, perhaps too small in some places, but what curves I had were graceful and smooth, and more generous than they had ever been. It was as if I had been a shadow of this woman, colorless and lifeless and almost hollow by comparison, for as long as I could remember, and now, I was who I was meant to be. I could have stared at the woman in the glass for hours. I suddenly wished Mikhael could see me. _“Sticks” would die in his throat and he'd choke on it,_ I thought smugly. I did not let myself think of Mal.

Genya caught my eye in the mirror and grinned.

“Is this why you dragged me in here?” I sniffed.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I've no idea, dearest Genya. Whatever _could_ I mean?”

“I just thought you might want to get a good look at yourself, that’s all.”

I swallowed around a sudden lump in my throat and gave her an impulsive hug. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I knew I was different now, but. . . .” I looked back at the woman in the glass. “I had no idea.” Then I gave her a little bump with my hip. “Now move. I look like a malnourished volcra next to you.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon trying on dresses and goggling at ourselves in the mirror—two activities I never would have expected to enjoy. Three, if you counted the fact that I finally found myself in a genuine friendship with another woman. We lost track of time, and Genya had to help me scramble out of an aquamarine ball gown and back into my kefta so that I could hurry down to the lake for my evening lesson with Baghra. I ran all the way but I was still late, and she was furious.

She was also particularly tough on me that night.

“Control!” she snapped as the wave of sunlight that I’d summoned sputtered over the frozen lake. “Where is your focus?”

“Maybe it's off in the woods having dinner with your patience!" I finally snapped. "How am I supposed to be able to concentrate when I have a furious old woman breathing down my neck and threatening to hit me medical aids?” That was true enough, but what I didn't say was that Genya and I had gotten so caught up in the distractions of the Queen’s wardrobe that we’d forgotten to eat, and my stomach was twisting itself.

She thanked me and punctuated my point by giving me a good whack with her cane.

“Well now that that's out of the way,” I grumbled, tenderly feeling the growing lump on my head. “Can I have a minute to try and focus, please?”

“It would be about time!” she barked.

I sighed and closed my eyes, rolling them under my lids. I took deep breaths and reached into my well of power, letting it wash through me until it almost felt like there was no line where I stopped and it started. I opened my eyes, centered myself, and the light bloomed bright and strong, reaching out almost to the far lakeshore.

“Better,” she said. “Let the light do the work for you. Like calls to like.”

I tried to relax into it further and let the light call to itself, find the places in the air where it already existed, waiting. To my relief and elation, it surged across the ice, illuminating the little island in the middle of the lake. It shone on the school on the opposite shore as if dawn had come and gone. I smiled at the exhilaration of it.

“More!” Baghra demanded, and my light sputtered, distracted by her sharp order. “What’s stopping you?”

I gritted my teeth to hold back another rude comment, but rather than let my annoyance and frustration interrupt my focus again, I used them as fuel to dig deeper into myself, as I had that day in the Grisha tent at Kribirsk.

The circle of light brightened and surged into the tree line past the school, bathing the whole lake and part of the clearing around it in gleaming sunlight. The air around us shone bright and heavy with summer heat, and the snow on the ground began to melt. My body thrummed with power, but I could feel myself tiring as I maintained the light, bumping up against the limits of my abilities.

“More!” Baghra shouted.

I closed my eyes and pulled on everything I had, strained, demanding it of myself and of the light around us. I felt more power pour into the air, and a loud crack resounded as the ice over the lake began to break apart.

“More!” she said again, and there was an urgency in her voice that sounded an alarm inside of me and caused my focus to falter and the light to sputter. My temper surged, and with it, the world around us exploded into a flash of blinding whiteness, searing my eyes behind their lids. The light vanished as abruptly as it had flared, and I let out a frustrated growl. “You're a horrible teacher, you know that?” I shouted angrily at Baghra. “Saints know why they let you near anyone!”

“It’s not enough.” His voice made me jump. The Darkling emerged from the shadows onto the lamplit path.

I felt my heart plummet. Had this been a test? Had that been why she was pushing me so hard? If so, I might have failed twice over: my net hadn't been up since we had started. Was I supposed to maintain it even when I was putting my all into doing something else? I wasn't in a hurry to ask.

“It might be,” said Baghra. “You see how strong she is. I wasn’t even helping her. Give her an amplifier and see what she can do.”

The Darkling shook his head. “She’ll have the stag.”

Baghra scowled. “You’re a fool.”

“I’ve been called worse. Often by you.”

“This is folly. You must reconsider.”

The Darkling’s face went cold. “I must? You don’t give me orders anymore, old woman. I know what has to be done.”

“I can do better,” I said, breathing hard from my exertion. The Darkling and Baghra turned to stare at me. It was almost like they’d forgotten I was there. “Baghra’s right. I know it's in me, I can feel it. I've gotten a lot stronger in a short time, and I know I can do more.”

“You’ve been on the Shadow Fold, Alina. You know what we’re up against.”

“If you just give me time-”

Again, the Darkling shook his head. “I can’t take that kind of a chance. Not with Ravka’s future at stake.”

I was silent for a long moment as I let the finality of that sink in. “I understand,” I said numbly.

“Do you?”

“As much as I need to. Without Morozova’s stag, I’m useless to you.” I managed to stifle my feelings, but not enough that my voice didn't come out a little cold.

“Ah, so she’s not as stupid as she looks,” cackled Baghra.

“Leave us,” said the Darkling with surprising ferocity.

“We’ll all suffer for your pride again, boy.”

“I won’t ask you again.”

Baghra gave him a disgusted glower, then turned on her heel and walked back up the path to her cottage.

When her door slammed shut, the Darkling regarded me in the lamplight. “You look well,” he said.

I nodded, my eyes on the lake and away from him.

“If you’re returning to the Little Palace, I’ll walk with you,” he said.

I was frustrated and hurt and I wanted to say no. I wanted to follow Baghra back to her hut and ask her to finish our lesson. I wanted to stay here and see how far I could push myself without distraction. But somehow, I found myself walking across the snow with him instead. For a while, we strolled in silence along the lakeshore, past the deserted stone pavilions. Across the ice, I could see the lights of the school.

“So has there been any word? Of the stag?” I asked. I wasn't sure what I wanted the answer to be.

He pressed his lips together. “No,” he said. “My men think that the herd may have crossed into Fjerda.”

“Ah,” I said.

He stopped abruptly. “I don’t think you’re useless, Alina.”

I had to suppress a snort. “No. Not once I have the antlers.”

“No Grisha is powerful enough to face the Fold. Not even me.”

“I know.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“Of course I don't. Should I? Would you? If I can't do this on my own and the stag isn't found, then I can’t destroy the Fold, so what exactly would I be here for? Midnight picnics? Or shall I keep your feet warm in the winter?”

His mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Midnight picnics?”

I didn’t smile back. “Botkin told me that Grisha steel is earned. I hated you for taking me away from Kribirsk, but I don't anymore. I'm grateful for it. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. Truly. But I told you I don't like taking things I haven't earned, and I don’t feel like I’ve earned any of it.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Alina. I asked you to trust me and I haven’t delivered.”

I shook my head. “That's not my point. I can be patient. I just-”

“But it’s true.” He took another deep breath and ran a hand over his neck. “Maybe Baghra’s right, as much as I hate to admit it.”

I cocked my head to one side. “Why does she bother you so much? You never seem fazed by anything.”

“I don’t know.”

“Hm. Well for what it's worth, I think she’s good for you.”

He started in surprise. “Why?”

I chuckled drily. “She’s the only person here who isn’t either scared of you or trying to impress you.”

“Are you trying to impress me?”

“Of course I am,” I laughed.

“Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?”

“Not even half the time.” I answered with a large grin.

Then he laughed too, and I remembered how much I liked the sound. “Then I guess I should count myself lucky,” he said.

“You really should,” I said. “What’s Baghra’s power, anyway?” I asked, the thought occurring to me for the first time. She was an amplifier like the Darkling, but he had his own power, too. “And what did she mean when she said we'd suffer for your pride again? Not that I really understand how anyone would suffer for having the Shadow Fold closed. Or what she means half the time at all, come to think of it.”

“I’m not sure about her power,” he said. “I think she was a Tidemaker. No one around here is old enough to remember. For the rest of it. . .I've made mistakes. Sometimes people have been hurt because of them.” He looked down at me. The cold air had put a flush in his cheeks, and the lamplight shone in his gray eyes. “Alina, if I tell you that I still believe we can find the stag, would you think I’m mad?”

“Of course not. But why on earth would you care what I think?” I laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

He looked genuinely baffled. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I do.”

And then he kissed me.

It happened so suddenly that I barely had time to react. One moment, I was staring into his slate-colored eyes, and the next, his lips were pressed to mine. I felt that familiar sense of surety melt through me as my body sang with sudden heat and my heart jumped into a skittery dance. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. He looked as surprised as I felt. I must have looked downright alarmed.

“I didn’t mean. . . . ,” he said.

“I like women!” I blurted, and instantly wanted to kick myself. It was an old habit, the easiest way I'd found to kill someone's interest. Which had also become an old habit.

He looked baffled. “. . .I apologize,” he said slowly. “I-”

At that moment, we heard footsteps and Ivan rounded the corner. I shot my eyes heavenward and quickly clasped my hands behind my back. It was the only way I could think to not look like someone who had just been surprised by a kiss. Ivan bowed to the Darkling and then to me, but I caught a little smirk playing on his lips. I glowered at him.

“The Apparat is getting impatient,” he said.

“One of his less appealing traits,” replied the Darkling smoothly. The look of surprise had vanished from his face. He bowed to me, completely composed, and without another glance, he and Ivan left me standing in the snow.

“Goodnight, Happy!” I called after the two had disappeared. I was rewarded with a grunt from the shadows.

The answering little smile on my face slid away and I stood there for a long moment in a daze, and then made my way back to the Little Palace. What just happened? I touched my fingers to my lips. Why did the Darkling just kiss me? I had seen things since I had come here, small things that I would have called signs of interest from anyone else, but I had been positive I was misreading them. I couldn't quite believe the other possibility. Had I been wrong?

I avoided the domed hall and went straight to my room, but once I was there, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I rang for a dinner tray and then paced as I ate. I wanted to talk to Genya, but she slept at the Grand Palace every night, and I had the stupid feeling that if I set foot outside my room I would magically bump into the Darkling. Finally, I grew exasperated with myself and left to go down to the domed hall.

Marie and Nadia had returned from their sleighing excursion and were sitting by the fire, drinking tea. I was shocked to see Sergei sitting next to Marie, his arm looped through hers. _Is there something in the air?_ I wondered in amazement.

I slipped past them and made my way to the Grand Palace. Once inside, I asked the first servant I saw where Genya's room was, prepared for the uninterrupted stare I got as I walked away. Servants were better than most at hiding their interest, at least, for which I was grateful. I turned a corner into the doorway leading to the bank of rooms that should house Genya's, and ran into a protruding belly. A pair of thick hands gripped my arms to steady me.

“Saints!” I snapped. “Why don't you watch-” Then I saw who it was and backed away hastily. Or tried to – the King hadn't released my arms yet.

“Moi tsar, I am so sorry,” I effused. “I had no idea who I was running in to,” I gave a weak laugh.

His face was ruddy and he looked a little dazed. “Quite alright, Alina, quite alright," he said. His voice was oddly rough. "You're looking very well.” His eyes darted up and down my figure and I felt my skin crawl. “I don't recall you being quite so. . . robust, when we met." I wasn't sure if I wanted to snort or gag more. "Life among the Grisha has treated you well, it seems.”

One of his thumbs stroked my arm minutely. It was all I could do to keep the revulsion from my face.

“Quite well, yes,” I said quickly. Even without etiquette lessons from Ana Kuya, I would have understood that there was no polite way to excuse myself from this conversation. It ended when the King wanted it to, or not at all. I swallowed thickly.

“I hear reports, of course. You're the talk of court, and of all Ravka, my dear girl. We're all terribly relieved. We cannot have the Fold closed soon enough! Your studies are progressing well?”

“Your Highness hears reports, does he not?” I asked, just innocent enough that confusion flitted across his face instead of anger.

He laughed politely. “Of course, of course.”

To my immense relief, he released my arms. I stepped back a polite distance and tried to ignore his eyes sweeping me up and down again.

“What brings you to my palace?” He asked, puffing out his chest a little.

“An errand, moi tsar. I apologize for taking up your time, I should have watched where I was going.” _So let me get back to it now,_ I plead silently.

“Think nothing of it. I was headed to my chambers for the night, myself. Do take care, and perhaps you may visit court soon. Should your studies allow, of course.”

“Of course.” I agreed with a smile, careful to avoid anything that he could interpret as a “yes.”

He gave me a minute bow and swept past, his scent following him in a cloud. He smelled of sweat, which made it worse, and I nearly gagged. I resumed walking to Genya's quarters, but stopped mid-stride when I realized I was about to go through the door the King had just passed out of. The only door to the bank of servant's rooms where Genya slept.

I leaned against the doorway, afraid I might be ill, and put a hand over my mouth.

I wanted nothing more than to run to help her, but I knew Genya well enough to understand that pretending I had never seen this would be the kindest thing I could do for her. I shoved down my fury and disgust at the king, my revulsion at our interaction, my confusion over the Darkling's kiss, and the heartbreak and sickness I felt for my friend. Then I bundled it all up into something more useful: determination.

I pushed my shoulders back, straightened my spine, smoothed the folds of my kefta, and walked straight from the gilded halls outside Genya's room to the large golden gates that closed off the Palace District from the rest of Os Alta.

“Open the gates,” I ordered the two guards flanking them.

They glanced at one another in the torchlight. “We have orders you're not to leave the palace grounds, miss,” one of them, a large, broad man with a close-cropped black beard said. I couldn't tell if he sounded uncomfortable or apologetic.

“Open them,” I snapped.

“Miss,” the other guard began, definitely uncomfortable, but I cut him off by throwing my hand out and burning a large hole clean through a massive topiary bush next to him.

“Open. The gates.” I repeated.

They exchanged another look. The man who had been standing next to the bush was shaking slightly. “We'll accompany you,” the man with the beard said as he moved to do as I had ordered.

“No you won't. But it is vital that you tell no one I was here.”

The man hesitated. I stared him down.

“As you say, my lady,” he answered. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The man obviously didn't like this, and I didn't think for a moment that no one would hear about it. I may be in a black kefta, and I may be the Sun Summoner, but I was not a person of standing at court. And if I had been either of these men, I would have been much more concerned with avoiding the wrath of the Darkling or the King than a woman who could destroy shrubbery. But all I needed was a few hours. Military post went out early every morning.

As soon as I was away from the gates, I bent the light away from myself to disappear. I found the military post near the outer gates without much trouble, and didn't have a hard time impressing the importance of my message upon the courier. I wished I could ask her to put it into Mal's hands personally, but that would have been far off her normal route, and I was going to have a hard enough time explaining this as it was. I made her promise to keep our meeting and the origin of the letter a secret, and could only hope that she would. I could justify needing a walk or something equally idiotic, but if anyone found out about the letter, that would require more explanation than I thought I would ever want to give.

When I made my way back to the gates, the black-bearded man's partner had been replaced. I thanked him for his help while the other guard goggled at me, and asked him to apologize to his friend. I held my hand out to shake his, and tried to ignore the guilty pang I felt when he flinched at the contact. This wasn't the sort of ambassador for the Grisha I had wanted to be, nor a first impression I had wanted to make as the Sun Summoner. I didn't want people to be afraid of me. I wondered just how big a mistake I had made by impulsively forcing my way outside of the Darkling's designated safe area.

By the time I got back to the Little Palace, all my anger had burned away and melted into worry. I felt like a child at Kermazin again, getting caught at something I had known I shouldn't be doing. Would my letter even make it to Mal after all of this? And if it did, would I hear from him? Part of me was certain I wouldn't. _So why go to the trouble?_ I asked myself for what felt like the hundredth time over the last few weeks. What if it wasn't just me who got in trouble, but the guards who had let me through the gates? The responsible thing would be to go to the Darkling tomorrow morning and offer an explanation.

Sergei, Marie, and Nadia were still in the domed hall by the fire when I returned. I sat sipping tea with them to distract myself, asking about their day and their trip to the countryside, but I had trouble keeping my mind on the conversation. After everything that had happened tonight, my thoughts kept wandering back to the way the King had looked when I had bumped into him, the worried looks on the guards' faces, and more than anything, to the feel of the Darkling’s lips on mine and the way he’d looked standing in the lamplight, his breath a white cloud in the cold night air, that stunned and then confused expression on his face.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so when Marie suggested going to the banya, I decided to join them. Ana Kuya had always told us that the banya was barbaric, an excuse for peasants to drink kvas and engage in wanton behavior. But I was beginning to realize that old Ana had been a bit of a snob.

I sat in the steam for as long as I could bear the heat and then plunged, squealing, into the snow with the others, before running back inside to do it all over again. I stayed until long past midnight, laughing and gasping, trying to clear my head and ignore the stabs of worry and guilt I felt.

When I stumbled back to my room, I fell into bed, my skin damp and pink, my hair in wet tangles. I felt flushed and boneless, but my mind was still whirring. I focused and summoned a warm wash of sunlight, making it dance in slivers across the painted ceiling, letting the sure rush of power soothe my nerves. Then the memory of the Darkling’s kiss blew through me and rattled my concentration, scattering my thoughts and making my heart swoop and dive like a bird borne aloft by uncertain currents.

The light shattered, leaving me in darkness.


	15. Debut

As winter drew to a close, talk turned to the King and Queen’s fete at the Grand Palace. The Grisha Summoners were expected to put on a demonstration of their powers to entertain the guests, and much time was spent discussing who would perform and what would make the most impressive showing. I would be making my first public appearance as the Sun Summoner that night.

“Just don’t call it ‘performing,’” Genya warned. “The Darkling can’t stand it. He thinks the winter fete is a giant waste of Grisha time.”

I thought he might have a point: the Materialki workshops buzzed morning and night with orders from the palace for cloth and gems and fireworks, taking time that would have otherwise been spent on orders for the First and Second Armies. The Summoners spent hours at the stone pavilions honing their “demonstrations.” Given that Ravka was at war and had been for over a hundred years, it all seemed a little frivolous. Still, I hadn’t been to many parties, and it was hard not to get caught up in the talk of silks and dances and flowers.

Genya herself had been acting strange. Some of it was good: her visits were more frequent, and she seemed to go out of her way to pay me compliments. Other things were odd: she teased me, and would find excuses to touch me more than normal – a nudge of a shoulder or hip when she joked, a hand rested on my arm or back as she passed. I had no idea what to make of it. I thought perhaps she was lonely, but short of spending more time with her, which I was already doing, I couldn't think of how I might help. I hoped things hadn't gotten worse for her at the palace, but didn't know how I'd even bring it up.

Baghra had no patience with me. If I lost focus for even a moment, she’d smack me with her stick and say, “Dreaming of dancing with your dark prince?”

I would snap right back at her more often than I probably should (“You seem awfully obsessed with his love life. Are you sure _you_ don't want to dance with him? Ow! Why are you so violent?”), but too often, she was right. Despite my best efforts, I was thinking of the Darkling. He’d disappeared once again, early in the morning after my excursion into town. Genya told me that he’d left for the north. He had gone before I could tell him what I'd done, but I couldn't say I was upset about that. I heard nothing about it from anyone else, and started to hope that the guards had kept my secret, after all. I hoped I could find a way to thank them.

The other Grisha speculated that the Darkling would have to put in an appearance at the winter fete, but no one could be sure. Again and again, I found myself on the verge of telling Genya about the kiss, but I always stopped just as the words were on my lips.

 _You’re being ridiculous,_ I told myself sternly. _It didn’t mean anything. He probably kisses a lot of women. And you told him you didn't like men anyway, remember?_ He probably hadn't given it another thought, so why was I spending so much time remembering it? All the same, some days it took everything in me not to stand up in the middle of breakfast and shout, “The Darkling kissed me!”

If Baghra was disappointed in me, it was nothing compared to my disappointment in myself. I might think my power was impressive, but as hard as I pushed, my limitations were becoming obvious. At the end of every lesson, I kept hearing the Darkling say, “It’s not enough,” and with growing frustration, I knew he was right. He wanted to destroy the very fabric of the Fold, to turn back the black tide of the Unsea, and I simply wasn’t strong enough to manage that. I’d read enough to understand that this was the way of things. All Grisha had limits to their power, even the Darkling. But he’d said I was supposed to change the world, and it was hard to accept the growing reality that I likely wasn't up to the task.

While the Darkling may have vanished, the Apparat seemed to be everywhere. He lurked in hallways and by the path to the lake. I thought he might be trying to trap me alone again, and I didn’t want to listen to him rant about faith and suffering and how special I was. I was careful never to let myself be visible if I was alone.

On the day of the winter fete, the Grisha were excused from classes, but I went to see Botkin anyway. I had too much pent up anger over my limitations and was too anxious about my part in the demonstration and the prospect of seeing the Darkling again to just sit in my room. Being around the other Grisha didn’t help. Marie and Nadia talked constantly about their new silk kefta and what jewels they intended to wear, and David and Natalya and the other Fabrikators kept accosting me to talk over the details of the showing. So I avoided the domed hall and went out to the training rooms by the stables.

Botkin put me through my paces and made me drill using my mirrors. Without them, I was still pretty helpless against him. But with my gloves on, I could almost hold my own. Or so I thought. When the lesson was over, Botkin admitted that he’d been pulling his punches.

“Should not hit girl in face when she is going to party,” he said with a shrug. “Botkin will be fairer tomorrow.”

I found myself laughing. Botkin may be gruff and demanding, but I had come to find that I liked him, especially now that I could actually do what he told me to once in a while. At least he had a way of showing approval when I did something right, unlike Baghra, whose idea of praise was either not hitting me or just insulting me slightly less.

On my way back to the Little Palace, a servant in cream and gold approached to tell me I had been summoned by the King. For a moment I froze. Was I in trouble? I had never heard of him summoning a Grisha before, let alone out of nowhere like this.

When the servant turned to lead me, I stumbled along behind him. Was this about tonight's performance? Did he want to remind me how important it was going to be? I couldn't think what else he could want me for, though there was a tingle of worry in the back of my mind that I refused to look at as I chewed over possibilities.

When we got to the throne room, I groaned silently – the Apparat was talking quietly with the King. The servant left me at the door, and I approached the throne, stopping a respectful distance away and trying to figure out what to do with my hands that wouldn't involve fidgeting. The Apparat saw me first and his face curled into a smile that made suppress a shudder.

The King followed the Apparat's gaze and his face lit up. “Ah, Alina! Good.” Then in a louder voice, he ordered, “leave us.” The Apparat and the servants standing by the doors bowed and exited. The Apparat turned to stare at me over his shoulder just before leaving, and my skin prickled nervously at the look on his face.

“Come, dear girl, come!” the King said.

I walked forward and he got up from his seat and held out a hand for mine. When I gave it to him, he pressed a long, wet kiss to my knuckles, and I had to fight to keep from grimacing. When he raised his head, he kept hold of my hand.

“You are prepared for this evening?”

“I am, moi tsar. You should be pleased with what we have ready.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “The performance is all well and good, but everyone is coming to see _you._ You're our Sun Summoner, Alina, Ravka's salvation!” He beamed.

“I'm ready, your Highness. I've had a good deal of practice.” Most of it had been before I was found in Kribirsk, but I reasoned that it still counted. Baghra didn't exactly have me practicing flashy tricks. Unless I could use them to blind people.

“Show me.”

“Excuse me? Moi tsar?” I hastily added.

“Your light. Summon it,” he ordered imperiously. “Let me see.”

I felt my jaw tighten at being ordered to perform as if I were a dancing bear, but used his command as an excuse to free my hand from his. I raised it and called warm sun, wrapping it around my palm and fingers.

The King gazed at it in wonder. “Marvelous,” he said as if to himself. He raised a hand and dipped his fingers into the glow, his lips curling into a smile. “The summer sun answers your very call,” he said in awe. “It is so warm.” He let his fingers play in the light a long moment, then they brushed my skin and trailed down my wrist to my forearm. “As is your skin,” he said with a chuckle. He wrapped his fingers around my arm and stroked it with a thumb, following its path with his eyes. The sweat from training with Botkin had all dried, and the motion abraded the salt on my skin.

The worried prickle I had felt at the back of my mind as the servant led me here grew to a buzz.

“A product of my abilities, moi tsar,” I explained uncertainly, letting the light fade. “It's been that way since I was a child.”

“Fascinating.” His eyes roamed down the length of me and I could practically hear his train of thought as they went. Bile rose in my throat.

Abruptly, he released his hold and I sighed quietly in relief. I brought both hands behind my back and clasped them together.

“Tell me, Alina, are you well cared for at the Little Palace? Are your desires being met?”

“Of course,” I assured him. “It's a beautiful place to live. I've never had so much in my life,” I answered honestly.

“Come now, surely there must be something more you want, yes? You have not had a life filled with luxury.” He smiled, as if my being an orphan was a confidence we shared. “Perhaps you wish to make up for lost time. Do you desire gowns? Jewels? Perhaps you have an interest in horses or art? The Darkling is a powerful man in my kingdom, to be certain, but there are things only I can grant you, dear girl.”

My sense of unease grew. “I've never been an animal person, and the closest I've come to art was a few paintings and sculptures at Duke Keramsov's estate growing up. Unless you count Cartographer's Tents. I wear a kefta every day, so I wouldn't have a use for gowns or jewels. I have my own room, good food, and a library full of books." _And a friend,_ I added silently. "I don't need anything else, your Highness.” For what felt like the first time in weeks, I felt a stab in the place Mal used to occupy, that old familiar twist, but pushed it down. “Except perhaps for a little more practice before tonight,” I hinted.

“Admirable. However, we are not discussing needs, Alina. We are discussing wants. Desires.” Then he looked at me in a way that erased any hope I'd been clinging to that this was about the ball. I had seen that look on many faces in my life, some at Keramzin, most in the army, though not all directed at me. Nothing good ever came of them.

I swallowed thickly. “I'm Grisha, your Highness. Would I not speak to the Darkling if I wanted something?”

He waved a hand. “Come to me. You are not like other Grisha, and we must see that you are given the attentions you deserve. You are as different from anyone else in the Second Army as the Darkling is. Though much more agreeable, more enjoyable to speak to. And infinitely more beautiful, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “You deserve more. Can you imagine what you could do with the favor of a King, for instance?” There was nothing playful or polite in his face now. He stepped forward and put his hands on my hips, fingers stroking them.

My mind raced. No one said no to the King. I might be the Sun Summoner, but I had no idea what to do, and the only person I could even think to ask for help was, for all I knew, still hundreds of miles away, commanding troops in the North. And even if he had been back at the Little Palace, anywhere outside this room was too far to help me.

“Moi tsar. . . .” I began, frantically searching for some way out of this.

He leaned toward me, his lids hooded, his eyes going to my mouth and his pudgy hands sliding up to grip my waist.

I panicked and shoved him away. “Stop!” I cried. Instantly, he looked outraged.

“I'm. . .” I swallowed, then remembered what he'd said a moment ago and an idea, flimsy and ridiculous, occurred to me. I latched onto it. “I can't!" I blurted. "My powers, your Highness. They. . .rely on my chastity.”

A look of confusion flashed briefly over his reddened features, and I hurried to play to it.

“You flatter me, truly, to even suggest that I could be good enough for you.” I fought down bile at the words and prayed he would interpret my angry blush as embarrassment. “But I learned long ago that even to be kissed weakens my abilities. If I were to. . . .” I trailed off, letting him finish the thought. “I couldn't, your Highness. Not if I wish to save our people from the Fold.” I tried to look as if I were confessing a painful and mortifying secret. Panic and revulsion lent themselves to the lie well.

His pudgy face wrinkled in doubt. “I have never heard of such a thing,” he said dubiously, but there was a sliver of receptivity in his expression.

“I am not like other Grisha, as your Highness said. Please,” I added, laying on the helpless damsel act with a trowel, “no one knows, moi tsar. Not even the Darkling. It is my greatest secret,” I finished in a whisper, a pleading expression on my face.

“. . .Of course,” he said uncertainly. With visible effort, his face cleared and he straightened. “Of course, my dear, of course I will keep your confidence. You are noble to put your duty ahead of your desires.” His eyes swept me up and down again, though there was uncertainty behind them, now. “Admirable, truly. Think nothing of it.”

“Your Highness is not angry with me?” I asked, leaning on his false sense of generosity while suppressing burning hatred at this entire disgusting farce.

“Of course not, no.” He assured me. “Certainly not. You are a strong young woman, Alina, and I admire your dedication. Be at ease. If you will excuse me, however, I do have important business to tend to. And you will be wanting to clean up before the fete, I'm certain,” he said, turning to go.

“You are too kind, moi tsar. Ravka is most fortunate to be blessed by your rule.”

He made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment, gave me a small nod, and left through a doorway on the wall behind the throne. As soon as he disappeared, my pleasant mask dropped and I felt my anger practically writhe under my skin. Part of me sorely wanted to light the room on fire. Instead, I did my best to push down my temper and loathing, tried to smooth my face, and headed back to the Little Palace. Judging from the way servants hurried to move from my path, I didn't do a very good job.

The dinner hour came and went, but I found I didn't have an appetite. I couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his quivering lips, and the number of women who had never had even a chance to say no. I couldn't stop thinking about Genya.

I filled my beautiful sunken tub and had a long, hot soak while entertaining ideas about what Mal and I could have come up with for revenge had the King not been the King. I enjoyed the novelty of privacy as I did – the banya was fun, but I'd had my share of communal bathing in the army. By the time I was done, I felt better and had all but forgotten, or at least banished, my encounter with the tsar. I sat down by the windows, swathed my hair in sunlight to help it dry, and watched as night fell over the lake. Soon, the lamps lining the long drive to the palace would be lit as guests arrived in their lavish coaches, each more ornate than the last. I felt a little prickle of excitement. A few months ago, I would have dreaded and feared a night like this: a public performance, playing dress-up with hundreds of beautiful people in their expensive clothes, drinking and dancing. I was still nervous, but I thought it all might actually be. . .fun.

I looked at the little clock on the mantel and frowned. A servant was supposed to be delivering my new silk kefta, but if she didn’t arrive soon, I was going to have to wear one of my old wool ones and sneak my way backstage without being seen.

Almost as soon as I’d had the thought, a knock sounded at the door. But it was Genya, her tall frame swathed in cream silk heavily embroidered in gold, her red hair piled high on her head to better display the massive diamonds dangling from her ears and the graceful turn of her neck.

Immediately I wanted to tell her what had happened with the King. But she was the last person I'd ever want to find out about it - he weighed on her shoulders enough as it was.

“Well?” she said, turning this way and that.

I hid my sadness. “Magnificent,” I said with a warm smile. “You would be beautiful in a sack from the kitchens, though. The rest of us might stand a chance then, come to think of it.”

“I do look remarkable,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror over the basin. “And you're perfectly adequate, even when you don't try.” She smirked.

“You might look even better with a little humility.”

“I doubt that. Why aren’t you dressed?” she asked, taking a break from marveling at her own reflection to notice I was still in my robe.

“My kefta hasn’t arrived.”

“Oh, well, the Fabrikators have been a bit overwhelmed with the Queen’s requests. I’m sure it will get here. Now, sit down in front of the mirror so I can do your hair.”

I practically squealed with excitement and rushed to do as she said. I’d been hoping Genya would offer, but hadn’t wanted to ask. “I assumed you would be helping the Queen,” I said as Genya set her clever hands to work.

She rolled her amber eyes. “I can only do so much. Her highness has decided she doesn’t feel up to attending the ball tonight. She has a headache. Ha! I’m the one who spent an hour removing her crow’s feet.”

“So she’s not going?”

“Of course she’s going! She just wants her ladies to fuss over her so she can feel even more important. This is the biggest event of the season. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The biggest event of the season. I let out a shaky breath.

“Nervous?” asked Genya.

“Oh, no. I would be, but of course I go to royal balls and perform in front of hundreds of important people every other week. Especially when half of them probably would have sold their own children for a first look at me. It's all a bit droll, really.”

“You should be used to getting gawked at by now,” she said.

“I really should be. And yet apparently I still loathe it.”

“I can't imagine why. Besides, you may look better now, but you were beautiful when you first came here. You can't tell me people haven't been staring at you most of your life.” She smiled down at my hair as she worked and a pretty blush colored her cheeks.

“You have a point,” I said uncertainly, watching her in the mirror. I could count the number of times I had seen Genya color on a few fingers, and they had only been when she was talking about David.

“Well, if it gets too bad, give me a signal, and I’ll get up on the banquet table, toss my skirt over my head, and do a little dance. That way no one will be looking at you.”

I laughed and felt myself relax a bit. After a moment, keeping my voice casual, I asked, “Has the Darkling arrived?”

“Oh yes. He came back yesterday. I saw his coach.”

My heart sank a little. I immediately chastised myself. He was busy. _And you told him you like women,_ I reminded myself sharply. He would go back to ignoring me, and things would return to normal. As soon as I could stop remembering the way his lips had felt against mine.

“I imagine he’s very busy,” said Genya.

“Of course,” I agreed too brightly.

After a moment, she said softly, “We all feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?”

“The pull. Toward the Darkling. But he’s not like us, Alina.”

I tensed. Genya kept her gaze studiously focused on the coils of my hair.

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly.

“His kind of power, the way he looks. You’d have to be mad or blind not to notice it.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Has he never. . . ? I mean, have you and he ever. . . ?”

“No! Never!” A mischievous smile twitched on her lips. “But I would.”

“You would?”

“Who wouldn’t? And speaking of, if you ever get the chance? Ivan.” She grinned at me in the mirror.

I nearly choked. _“Ivan?”_

Genya nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “He seems uptight, and he is. Except when. . .well, you know. And all that anger? Yes, definitely Ivan.”

I felt like I had tasted something sour. “Genya. . .no. Saints, no.”

She shrugged, a look almost like hurt flitting across her face. “David doesn't know I exist, and once in a while, it's nice to be able to choose.”

“Choose?”

She didn't answer, and when I realized my lapse, I immediately wished I could disappear into the chair. Of course I knew what she meant. “I'll take it under advisement,” I hastened. “And I'll tell him you said hello next time I see him,” I added with a little grin.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “Listen, Alina, what I said about the Darkling? I would. But I’d never let my heart get involved. Not with him.”

I wanted to ask her why, but stayed silent. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and said “He kissed me.”

When she didn't say anything, I cracked one eye open. Her hands were frozen in my hair and her eyes were practically snapping where they met mine in the glass.

“The night before he left,” I said. I looked down at my hands where they fidgeted in the velvet of my robe.

“What happened?” She asked carefully. “What did you do?” Then, with a grin, “and how was it?”

I shot her a look. “I told him I like women. Blurted it, actually. Loudly. It was terribly suave.”

After a beat, Genya broke into a fit of laughter. “Why would you do that? Wait, _do_ you like women?” Her look turned appraising. “The way you look at him, I'd assumed. . . .”

“What do you mean the way I look at him? I don't look at him!”

She arched one perfect brow.

I glowered and answered her question. “I've spent time with a couple. It's complicated. And it was more an automatic response than anything. We were just standing there talking, and then suddenly he kissed me, and then suddenly he wasn't kissing me and he looked. . .very surprised that he had kissed me. And then I told him I like women. And then he looked very _confused.”_

Genya didn't say anything right away. “Be careful, Alina.”

I snorted. “There's nothing to be careful of. He apologized for the misunderstanding, left Os Alta early the next morning, and came back without a word. I imagine we'll carry forward our tradition of pretending I don't exist.”

“He knows you exist.”

“Well sure. I'm wearing his color. I'm the culmination of his hopes and dreams,” I finished sarcastically.

Genya raised her flawless brows and tugged hard on my hair.

“Ow!” I yelped, then scowled at her. She smirked back.

“So. . .will David be there tonight?” I asked.

Genya sighed. “No, he doesn’t like parties. But I did just happen to drop by the workrooms so he could get a peek at what he was missing. He barely looked at me.”

“I doubt that,” I said with a snort. How was it that Genya had fallen so hard for someone so serious and so quiet and so seemingly oblivious to her gorgeousness? Or was that exactly why she had fallen for David?

Genya twisted a piece of my hair into place and secured it with a golden hairpin. “No, he really was oblivious. But I've been wondering lately if that's a bad thing.”

“What?” I asked in surprise.

“Honestly, I've had feelings for David for so long, I think they might have blinded me to something else. I sort of looked up one day and realized that someone else had found their way in,” she said with a secretive smile.

“Wait, what? Who is he and why haven't I heard about him?” I demanded, twisting around to look at her. “Is it another Grisha? Someone at the palace? Do you want me to hit him for being stupid for not immediately falling at your feet?”

“As if you tell me about everyone who catches your eye,” she teased. “You held out on telling me about your little kiss for how long?”

“Ok first, I absolutely wanted to, but how do you just tell someone that the Darkling planted one on you? After you'd barely ever spoken to each other, no less. And second, before I came here, only one person had ever caught my eye. One person. In my whole life. So there hasn't been much to tell.”

 _“Before_ you came here?”

I shrugged. “Little Palace, full of beautiful Grisha. Lost orphan suddenly surrounded by opulence and grace, birthright reclaimed, grand destiny. . . .” I waved a hand. “It's practically a cliché. I'm not saying I have fallen for someone, just that before I came here, no one else had ever even had me looking at them twice. Not really.”

To my surprise, she stilled her hands and regarded me seriously.

When she didn't say anything, I asked “What?”

Her hand strayed to a loose piece of my hair. As she toyed with it, her fingertips brushed the skin of my neck and I suppressed a shiver - it almost tickled. “But now someone has you looking twice? I wonder who,” she said with a sad smile, still looking at my hair. “I seem to have trouble with choosing the only people in the kingdom who don't notice me.”

I would have laughed, but she looked so sad that I couldn't.

I stood up and put my hands on her arms. “Genya, you're wonderful. You're funny, you're clever, you have a good heart, you're strong, and the least of your qualities is that you're breathtakingly beautiful. Anyone who doesn't notice you is either daft, or clearly not good enough for you. Or both. Probably both. And I absolutely stand by my offer of inflicting bodily harm in your name.”

She smiled a little and reached forward to tuck a stray lock of hair over my shoulder. Delicately, as light as a feather, her fingers slid along my collarbone and up the side of my neck, her eyes following its progress. She combed her fingers through my hair. I was staring at her, eyes wide, and she met my gaze.

“Or just oblivious.” She said with a small laugh.

A warning bell was sounding in my head, but I brushed it aside. This was Genya. “Or oblivious,” I agreed carefully.

She smiled sadly. “Ah, well. It's not as if I can be the most attractive prospect when I'm. . . otherwise engaged,” she finished bitterly.

I reached forward and gripped her hands. “The King is a monster, Genya. And disgusting. And I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to get you out of there. Maybe I'll tell them your presence has become vital to my focus and well being. Or I can ask for your return as a boon for closing the Shadow Fold. You can be my prize,” I said with a wicked smile.

Something passed over Genya's face, and she leaned in and kissed me. It was a longer kiss than the Darkling's had been, and her lips were softer than any I had ever felt. She brought a hand up to rest on my cheek before she slowly pulled back and pressed her forehead to mine. I stayed stock still, too surprised to move. When she pulled back and saw my face, her lovely brow furrowed.

What should I say? What _could_ I say? I had never had to say no to anyone whose feelings I wanted to spare or whose friendship I cared about. I relied on her, and I truly cared about her.

“Genya,” I began uncertainly, “I lied to the Darkling. It was just. . .habit. He caught me off guard, and it just came out.” I hadn't hated the times I'd tried to be with women any more than the times I'd tried to be with men, but that was hardly a point I thought I should clarify just then.

Her beautiful eyes widened.

“I am so sorry,” I hurried to say. “I didn't mean- Whatever I did-”

She laughed lightly. “No. No Alina, you didn't do anything. I've already had too much wine tonight, and I am awfully fond of you, and really, how could I help it when I've been working on you? You already look lovely, and I'm not even done.” She laughed again.

Something in me clenched. I should have seen this coming, the way she'd suddenly begun treating me differently, but I had refused to let myself. “Genya-”

“Sit,” she sniffed. “I need to finish your hair. And you're letting me put color on your face. I snuck my kit in.” She said with a grin.

I didn't move.

“Alina, sit,” she said with an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. “It was stupid, and like I said, I've had too much to drink. It's an exciting night, after all. We're friends, and we are going to pretend this never happened until enough time has passed that we can laugh about how ridiculous it was. Sit!” She ordered again when I still didn't move.

I sank back into my chair and snuck glances at her as she resumed working on my hair. She kept up a bright string of talk the whole time. I felt miserable.

“There!” she said triumphantly. She handed me my little mirror and turned me around so that I could see her handiwork. Genya had piled my hair into an elaborate knot and left one shining wave loose, draped over my shoulder. I smiled at her as brightly as I could manage. “You're spectacular,” I said sincerely.

“It's true,” she sighed. She was behaving as if nothing had happened, which only made me feel worse. But this was how Genya often dealt with things. I knew that the best thing I could do for her was to play along and pretend nothing had happened, though I hated the very idea.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I practically ran to open it as Genya began laying out her kit. I eyeballed the jars and objects with apprehension, then felt a rush of relief when I saw two servants standing in the doorway, each carrying several boxes. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I was about my kefta arriving. I laid the largest box on the bed and pulled off the lid.

Genya squeaked, and I just stood there marveling at the contents. When I didn’t move, she reached into the box and pulled out yards of rippling black silk. The sleeves, neckline, and down onto part of the bodice were delicately embroidered in gold and glittered with tiny jet beads.

“It's perfect,” Genya effused. “Look!” she gasped.

The neckline of the gown was laced with a black velvet ribbon, and from it hung a small golden charm: the sun in eclipse, the Darkling’s symbol.

I bit the inside of my lip. He was not being subtle. This was what hundreds of people, every important person in Ravka, and some from other nations, would see me in for the first time. This was what I would be wearing when I made my debut – not only his color, but now also his symbol. I felt a little jab of resentment, and wondered if he had chosen this for me before or after the night by the lake. The question slipped away, though, as I watched the silk flow over Genya's hands like water. It would be the most beautiful thing I had ever worn by a laughable margin, and I couldn't deny that I was excited.

“Do you think I could cut the charm off?” I asked idly, leaning in.

“Alina!”

“What? I'm not his _dog._ I'm not his at all,” I added petulantly.

“You will not touch this dress.”

“That's going to make it awfully hard to wear.”

Genya pursed her lips and gave me what I would have called a glare on a less perfect face.

I rolled my eyes and carefully took it from her, a little smile on my face despite myself. I stepped behind the dressing screen and slipped into the new kefta. The silk felt cool on my skin as I fastened the tiny buttons, my hands shaking a little. When I emerged, Genya broke into a huge grin.

“Ooh, it _is_ perfect,” she effused. “You look incredible.” I flushed, wondering how she made it seem as if she hadn't just kissed me. And told me she might have feelings for me.

“Come stand over here so I can touch up your face. Summon a little light for me to work with? There, in front of you. And some just off to the sides? Now higher and with a little less yellow in it. Yes! Now, don't move.” She gave me the little gold hand mirror so I could watch her work, then reached for a rose on the table and plucked a pale pink petal. She held it up to my cheek, and the color bled from the petal onto my skin, leaving what looked like a pretty flush. Then she held a berry up to my lips and I watched as color, light as if she had only dabbed the juice on my skin, soaked into them. Next she picked up a piece of stone, blacker than my kefta, had me look up, and held it first to the lashes of one eye, then the other.

“Black tourmaline,” she said. “It will make them look darker and a little shinier. Nothing garish – I have loads of this sort of thing set aside because the queen refuses to understand the benefit of subtlety.” She sighed. “You should really let me work on you more often. It's a relief touching up someone who has sense.”

“Anyone who doesn't take your beauty advice is daft, Genya Safin.”

“I know,” she bemoaned. Then, her face lighting up, she proclaimed me finished and took a step back to admire her work. “Oh, Alina, you look like quite the temptress.”

“Sure I do,” I laughed. I held the mirror up again and the smile fell from my lips. If I hadn't known my own face so well, I might have thought she hadn't done anything to it, except that suddenly I looked downright striking. Genya had taken what was already there and made it more: my lashes looked longer and thicker and darker, my cheeks were a beautiful, soft pink, and my lips a deeper shade of their natural color. Looking back at me from the mirror was a Grisha with sparkling eyes and flawless skin and shimmering waves of perfect bronze hair. I turned and brightened the light in front of myself so I could use my large window as a mirror. The black silk of the kefta clung to my new form, shifting and sliding with it like sewn-together shadows.

I was speechless.

“Jewelry!” shouted Genya.

In the other boxes on my bed, we found golden silk slippers, large dangling jet and gold earrings that glittered in the light, and a thick muff of golden fur. When I was ready, I examined myself in the window and the little mirror above the basin. I felt exotic and mysterious, like I was wearing some other, far more glamorous woman’s clothes.

I looked up to see Genya watching me with a troubled expression.

“What’s wrong?” I said, my stomach plummeting.

“Nothing,” she said with a smile. “You look beautiful. Truly. But. . . .” Her smile faltered. She reached out and lifted the little golden charm at my neckline.

“Alina, the Darkling doesn’t notice most of us. We’re moments he’ll forget in his long life. And I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing. Just. . .be careful.”

I stared at her, baffled. “Of what?”

“Of powerful men.”

“. . .Please tell me you don't mean that he's like. . . .” I couldn't finish the sentence.

She shook her head. “He's not.” She examined the toes of her satin slippers. “The King has his way with lots of servants,” she said. Then she shrugged. “At least I got a few jewels out if it.”

I almost felt ill. “You don’t mean that.”

“No. I don’t.” She fiddled with one of her earrings. “The worst part is that everyone knows.”

I put my arm around her. “You’re worth all of them put together.”

She gave a weak imitation of her confident smile. “Oh, I know that.”

“Would you like me to accidentally burn a hole through him tonight? I haven't been training here for very long, you know. My powers can be hard to control sometimes. Very unpredictable.”

The sound of her laugh loosened some of the tightness in my chest.

“The Darkling should have done something,” I said seriously. “He should have protected you. He owed it to you.” Regardless of where she worked, she was Grisha.

“He has, Alina. More than you know. Besides, he’s as much a slave to the whims of the King as the rest of us. At least for now.”

“For now?”

She gave me a quick squeeze. “We're not dwelling on depressing things tonight, remember? Come on,” she said, her gorgeous face breaking into a dazzling grin. “I’m in desperate need of champagne!”

And with that, she glided serenely from the room. I wanted to say more to her. I wanted to ask her what she meant about the Darkling, why she had warned me bout him, twice. I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her I would always be her friend. Not for the first time, I wanted to take a hammer to the King’s head. But she was right. There would be plenty of time for trouble tomorrow. I took a last look in the little mirror and hurried out into the hall, leaving my worries behind me.

 

* * * * *

 

Marie and Nadia and a group of other Etherealki dressed in blue velvets and silks were the first to swarm around me and Genya. Genya made to slip away as she usually did, but I held fast to her arm. Despite what she had insisted, I was sure that what had happened upstairs hadn't been easy, and I needed her to know that I still stood with her. Other Grisha had stopped openly insulting her when I was around, but she was my friend, and in case I hadn't made it clear enough yet where my priorities were, it was time I did so.

“You know I can’t go into the ballroom with you. The Queen would have a fit,” she whispered in my ear.

“Ah, but wouldn't that be a high point of the night?”

Her beautiful laugh sounded over the din of conversation.

“You can walk over with me at least, right?” I asked.

Genya beamed. “I can.”

As we walked down the gravel path and into the wooded tunnel, I noticed that Sergei and several other Heartrenders were keeping pace with us, and I realized with a start that they were guarding us—or probably me. I had to admit that it made sense with all of the strangers on the palace grounds for the fete, and it would be a deterrent if nothing else. It was disconcerting though, a reminder of the reality that there were a lot of people in the world who wanted me dead. And this, the first time since Botkin had given me the Grisha steel dagger that I had opted not to strap it to my thigh.

The grounds surrounding the Grand Palace had been lit up to showcase tableaus of actors and little troupes of acrobats performing for wandering guests. Masked musicians strolled the paths. A man with a monkey on his shoulder ambled past, and two men covered from head to toe in gold leaf rode by on zebras, throwing jeweled flowers to everyone they passed. Costumed choirs sang in the trees. A trio of redheaded dancers splashed around in the double-eagle fountain, wearing little more than seashells and coral and holding up platters full of oysters to guests. I took some as we passed – my missed dinner had begun to catch up with me.

We had just started to climb the marble steps when a servant appeared with a message for Genya. She read the note and sighed.

“The Queen’s headache has miraculously disappeared, and she has decided to attend the ball after all.” She gave me a hug, promised to find me before the demonstration, and then slipped away.

Spring had barely begun to show itself, but it was impossible to tell that in the Grand Palace. Music floated down the marble hallways. The air felt curiously warm and was perfumed with the scent of thousands of white flowers, grown in Grisha hothouses. They covered tables and trailed down balustrades in thick clusters.

Marie and Nadia, Ruslan, Natalya, Faina and I drifted through groups of nobles, who pretended to ignore us but whispered as we passed by with our Corporalki guard. As we neared the ballroom, the other Grisha moved to walk behind me, but kept talking as if there was nothing unusual about it. I wanted to sigh, but reminded myself what I must look like to them: the Sun Summoner, dressed like the Darkling. They had been taught deference to this color since they had been children. Even I, who grew up as an otkazat'sya and had never seen the Darkling, had known to fear it, or at least respect it. They probably hadn't even noticed what they'd done. Any other time, it might have annoyed me, but tonight, dressed as I was, knowing how many people were waiting to see what I could do, I actually felt a little like something. . .more.

I held my head high and smiled at one of the young noblemen standing by the entrance to the ballroom. The smile reached my eyes when he blushed and look down at his shoes. Behind me, Marie and Nadia were gabbling about some of the dishes served to the nobles at dinner—roasted lynx, salted peaches, burnt swan with saffron. I suddenly found myself less eager to make up for my missed dinner. Ruslan was as quiet and graceful as ever, following at the rear with his twin and Faina.

The ballroom was larger and grander than even the throne room had been, lit by row after row of sparkling chandeliers, and full of masses of people drinking and dancing to the sounds of a masked orchestra seated along the far wall. The gowns, the jewels, the crystals dripping from the chandeliers, even the floor beneath our feet seemed to sparkle, and I wondered how much of it was Fabrikator craft. Keeping up my net in such a mess was a nightmare, never mind trying to make sense of all the information it was giving me. Baghra would probably tell me this was a perfect opportunity to practice. But Baghra wasn't here, and I wanted to enjoy this, so I let it drop without a second thought. To my surprise, I found myself missing it at first, as if I was suddenly short a piece of clothing.

Natalya excused herself to help with preparations for the demonstration. The other Grisha mingled and danced, but they were easy to pick out in their bold colors: deep purple, red, and midnight blue, glowing beneath the chandeliers like exotic flowers that had sprung up in some pale garden.  
The next hour passed in a blur. I was introduced to countless noblemen and their wives, high-ranking military officers, courtiers, and even some Grisha from noble households who had come as guests to the ball. I quickly gave up trying to remember names and simply smiled and nodded and curtsied. And kept myself from scanning the crowd for the Darkling’s black-clad form. I also had my first taste of champagne, which I found I liked much better than kvas.

At one point, I discovered myself face-to-face with a tired-looking nobleman leaning on a cane.

“Duke Keramsov!” I exclaimed. He was wearing his old officer’s uniform, his many medals pinned to his broad chest.

The old man looked at me with a flicker of interest, clearly startled that I knew his name.

“It’s me,” I said. “Alina Starkov?”

“Yes. . .yes. Of course!” he said with a faint smile.

I looked into his eyes. He didn’t remember me at all.

But why should he? I was just another orphan, and a very forgettable one at that. But I was surprised at how much it hurt. Did he not even remember that the Sun Summoner had been raised at his estate?

I made polite conversation, but excused myself as soon as I could.

I leaned against a pillar and grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing servant. With no dinner in my stomach, I was already feeling a little light-headed, but I didn't care. The room felt uncomfortably warm. As I looked around, I suddenly felt very alone. I thought of Mal, and my heart gave that old familiar twist. I put a hand to my chest. I wished he could be here to see this place. I wished he could see me in my silk kefta with gold in my hair and color on my face. Mostly I just wished that he was standing beside me. I pushed the thought away and took a big gulp of champagne.

I saw Genya gliding through the crowd toward me. Counts and dukes and wealthy merchants turned to stare at her as she passed, but she ignored them all. _Don’t waste your time,_ I wanted to tell them. _Her heart belongs to a gangly Fabrikator who doesn’t like parties._ And it did still, didn't it? I wanted to believe what she'd said about the kiss being a mistake, the result of too much wine and excitement. But the other things she'd said. . . .

“Time for the show—I mean, the demonstration,” she said when she reached me. “Why are you all by yourself?”

I laughed weakly. “Just wanted a little break.”

“Too much champagne?”

“Maybe.”

“Silly girl,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “There’s no such thing as too much champagne. Though your head will try to tell you otherwise tomorrow.”

“My head's already telling me that now,” I laughed, feeling warm and almost giddy from the drink. “Damned lying body parts.” She steered me through the crowd, gracefully dodging people who wanted to meet me or ogle her, until we’d made our way behind the stage that had been set up along the far wall of the ballroom. We stood by the orchestra and watched as a man dressed in an elaborate silver ensemble took to the stage to introduce the Grisha.

The orchestra struck a dramatic chord, and the guests were soon gasping and applauding as Inferni sent arcs of flame shooting over the crowd and Squallers sent spires of glitter whirling about the room. They were joined by a large group of Tidemakers who, with the Squallers’ help, brought a massive wave crashing over the balcony to hover inches above the audience’s heads. I saw hands reach up to touch the shining sheet of water. Then the Inferni raised their arms and, with a hiss, the wave exploded into a swirling mass of mist. Hidden by the side of the stage, I had a sudden inspiration and sent light cascading through the mist, creating a rainbow that shimmered in the air.

“Alina.”

I jumped. The light faltered and the rainbow disappeared. The Darkling was standing beside me. As usual, he wore a black kefta, though this one was made of raw silk and velvet. The candlelight gleamed off his dark hair. I swallowed and glanced around, but Genya had disappeared.

“Hello,” I managed with a polite smile.

“Are you ready?”

I grinned. “Of course I am. Did come to watch?”

He shook his head. “I'm going on with you.”

I felt a thrum of panic. “Wait, what?”

He walked me to the base of the steps leading to the platform. As the crowd applauded and the Grisha left the stage, Ivo put a hand on my arm. “Nice touch, Alina! That rainbow was perfect.” I thanked him and then turned my attention back to the Darkling. I found his eyes following Ivo's retreating form.

“I don't know what to do. I thought I was going on by myself.”

“Just do what you've practiced. I won't get in your way,” he said, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Of course, he must know what I'd been practicing. He seemed to know everything. I looked to the crowd, feeling suddenly nervous. I saw eager faces, the Queen surrounded by her ladies, looking bored. Beside her, the King swayed on his throne, clearly well in his cups, the Apparat at his side. If the royal princes had bothered to show up, they were nowhere to be seen. With a start, I realized the Apparat was staring directly at me, and I turned quickly away.

The Darkling saw me turn and followed the path my eyes had taken up to the dais. “The King summoned you today,” he said, his voice light. He was looking out at the crowd, but it felt like his attention was focused on me.

“You heard about that?” I asked nervously.

“I hear about everything, Alina. Like your trip into town before I left.”

I paled. He didn't look angry, but from the Darkling, that wasn't necessarily reassuring.

“The guards didn't get into trouble, did they?” I asked sheepishly. “I might have sort of implied that I'd burn a hole in them if they didn't do what I said. Possibly. And then ordered them not to tell anyone.”

To my surprise, he grinned. It would have been a small thing on anyone else. “They were reassigned. Nothing more.”

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“The King?” He prompted.

I toyed with my hands uncomfortably. “He did, yes.”

“What did he want?” I would have called his tone almost conversational, but something about it sent a shiver through me.

I laughed humorlessly. “To discuss tea and the migratory patterns of Fjerdan birds. What do you think he wanted?”

I saw his hand clench into a fist from the corner of my eye. “Did he touch you?” His voice was calm, but something about it was downright frightening now.

I swallowed. “Yes. But he's not the first idio-” I caught myself and looked around hastily, lowering my voice before going on. _“Person_ to try something like that. Not even the first one who could make my life miserable for saying no. He's _is_ the first who could have had me thrown into a dungeon, though, so I suppose I really am moving up in the world.” I pursed my lips, unable to laugh at my own joke. “If he had been almost anyone else, he'd have moved past broken nose and gone straight to 'unable to conceive future children' before the exchange was half over.” I remembered his thick fingers on me and had to suppress a shudder. “It was remarkably hard not to burn the place to the ground as it was. Or vomit on him at the very least. I have a new level of respect for Genya. If I were her I would have stabbed him in his sleep a long time ago.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. It was the only outward sign that he'd even heard me. “How badly did he press you?” he asked, and finally looked at me. I instantly wished he hadn't. There was something so cold in his eyes that I wanted very much to look away, but they held me as if I were trapped.

“It could have been worse,” I said honestly, my voice weaker than I had intended. “I shouted at him to stop, then to cover it, I might have told him that. . . .” I floundered trying to find a way to put it delicately, and hoped he couldn't see what felt like a violent blush.

He canted his head slightly, clearly waiting for me to go on.

I heaved a sigh and dropped my face into my hand. “I had to think of something on the spot, ok? I mean I couldn't just say 'no, you're repulsive and I hate you and can I please just set your hair on fire instead?'” I brought my head up, but was too embarrassed to look at him. “It was terrible, but it was all I could come up with. So I told him that my powers depend on me staying, em. . .'pure.'” I darted a quick glance at him from under my lashes.

The Darkling seemed frozen. Then one of his hands flew to his mouth to cover a sudden burst of laughter. It was almost as arresting as it was surprising.

“I'm not going to lie,” he said around a smile as he collected himself, mirth in his slate eyes, “I wish I could have seen his face. Describe it to me?”

I felt a grin spread over my lips. _”I'm_ not going to lie, if I hadn't been so horrified and disgusted and frankly panicked, it would have been hysterical. He looked like someone had just told him his wife has really been a man all these years, mixed with 'you have to wear a dress to the next ball' and 'your favorite pet has just died.'”

“Well done, Alina,” he said, smiling. I remembered the last time he'd said that to me, on horseback after I'd nearly been murdered. Then abruptly the mirth fell from his face, and his eyes darkened. “I'll make it clear that any request for your time is to come through me from now on. You won't be alone with him again, I promise. You'll tell me if you hear from him?”

“I will absolutely tell you,” I promised with as much of a smile as I could manage, relief washing through me. But then a question niggled at the back of my mind: why wasn't he this protective of Genya? Where was the outrage on her behalf? The King did infinitely worse to her.

_He's helped me more than you know._

I chewed on the inside of my lip.

We waited as the orchestra began to play an ominous, escalating thrum and the man in silver bounded onto the stage once again to introduce us.

Suddenly, Ivan was beside us saying something in the Darkling’s ear. I heard the Darkling reply, “Take them to the war room. I’ll be there shortly.”

Ivan darted away, ignoring me completely. I rolled my eyes at his back. When the Darkling turned to me, he was smiling again, his eyes alive with excitement. Whatever news he’d gotten had been good. I canted my head at him.

A burst of applause interrupted and signaled that it was time for us to take the stage. He took my arm and said, “Let’s give the people what they want.”

I nodded tightly, my throat going dry as he led me up the steps and to the center of the stage. I tried to remember all the lessons I'd ever gotten from Ana Kuya on how to walk gracefully. I heard eager buzzing from the crowd, looked out at their expectant faces. At the center of the stage, the Darkling gave me a short nod. With little preamble, he slammed his hands together and thunder boomed through the room as a wave of darkness fell over the party.

I felt an excited smile spread over my face. The plan had been for Squallers to extinguish the lights. I would have relit them at the end. This was infinitely better, a blank canvas for me to work in.

The Darkling waited, letting the crowd’s anticipation grow. He might not have liked the Grisha performing, but he certainly knew how to put on a show. Only when the room was practically vibrating with tension did he lean into me and whisper, so softly that only I could hear, “Now.”

Heart clattering with excitement and anticipation, I extended my arm, palm up. I took a deep breath and called up that feeling of wholeness, the feeling of light rushing toward me and through me, and focused it in my hand. A thin, bright column of sunlight shot out from my palm and over the heads of the crowd, gleaming in the darkness of the ballroom. The audience gasped, and I heard someone shout, “It’s true!”

I turned my hand slightly, angling toward what I hoped was the right spot on the balcony that David had described to me earlier, letting the light swell.

“Just make sure you aim high enough, and we’ll find you,” he’d said.

I knew I’d gotten it right when the beam from my palm shot out from the balcony, zigging and zagging through the room as the light bounced from one large Fabrikator-made mirror to the next until the dark ballroom was a pattern of crisscrossing streams of gleaming sunlight. I turned it to one long river of glittering stardust and cycled it through a rainbow of colors.

The voices of the crowd hummed in excitement.

I closed my palm abruptly, and the beam shattered into minute sparkling trails, twinkling and dying in the air as they fell. Tiny stars began to wink into existence one by one, and then more quickly until thousands of them filled the Ballroom from the ceiling down, glowing among the bodies of the audience. I watched as more than one tentative hand lifted to feel the cool light. Then each point of brightness zoomed in toward me, collecting in my palm and condensing into a small, warm golden glow. I let it pulse gently, like the beating of a heart, growing bright and then fading until it almost winked out entirely, only to return it to brightness. Then, in a flash, I bloomed the light around me and the Darkling, wrapping us in a glowing sphere that surrounded us like a flowing, golden halo.

He looked at me and held out his hand, sending black ribbons of darkness climbing and spiraling through the light, twisting and turning. As I watched it, I felt a wide, excited smile on my face and let the sphere grow larger and brighter, feeling the pleasure of the power move through me, letting it play through my fingertips as he sent inky tendrils of darkness shooting through it, making our two powers dance and weave together.

The crowd applauded loudly and the Darkling murmured softly, “Now, _show them.”_

I grinned with savage elation and did as I had been taught, throwing my arms wide and feeling my whole self open, then I slammed my hands together and a deafening rumble shook the ballroom. Brilliant white light exploded through the crowd with a whoosh as the guests released a collective “Ahhhh!” and closed their eyes, raising their hands against the brightness.

I held it, blinding, for a few long seconds and then unclasped my hands, letting the light fade as small glowing bits fell through the air in smooth streaks like rain. When I opened my eyes, my smile exultant, I made them appear for a moment as if they glowed with light brighter than the noonday sun as I sent one last thin, golden trail speeding and winding around the room in a flash to re-light the chandeliers and sconces. I dismissed the light from my eyes with a blink. The crowd burst into wild applause, shouting and clapping furiously and stomping their feet.

We took our bows as the orchestra began to play and the applause gave way to excited chatter. The Darkling pulled me to the side of the stage and whispered, “Do you hear them? See them dancing and embracing? They know now that the rumors are true, that everything is about to change.”

I felt my elation ebb slightly as uncertainty crept in. “Aren’t we giving them false hope, then? We still don't even know if we'll find the stag,” I said.

He smiled at me and I felt my heart thud. “No, Alina. We're not giving them false hope. I told you that you were my answer. And you are.”

I blinked at him. “I've worked hard, but. . .I think I've reached the limit of what I can do on my own.” I admitted. “And after the last time we talked. . . ." I blushed, remembering the kiss. "You said I wasn't strong enough.”

The Darkling’s mouth quirked in the suggestion of a grin but his eyes were serious. “Did you really think I was done with you?”

A little tremor quaked through me. He watched me, his half smile fading. Then, abruptly, he took me by the arm and pulled me from the stage into the crowd. People offered their congratulations, reached their hands out to touch us, but he cast a rippling pool of darkness that snaked through the crowd and vanished as soon as we had passed. It was almost like being invisible. I could hear snatches of conversation as we slipped between groups of people.

“I didn’t believe it. . .”

“. . . a miracle!”

“. . . never trusted him but. . .”

“It’s over! It’s over!”

I heard people laughing and crying. A feeling of worry niggled at me. These people believed that I could save them. What would they think when they learned that I couldn't? But these thoughts were only dim flickers. It was hard to think of anything but the fact that, after weeks of absence, the Darkling was here, and had hold of my hand as he led me through a narrow door and down an empty corridor.

“What are you doing?” I laughed as he pulled me inside an empty room lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the windows. I barely had time to register that it was the sitting room where I had once been brought to meet the Queen or to hear an alarm bell in my head, because as soon as the door closed he was kissing me and I could think of nothing else.

I’d been kissed before, drunken mistakes, awkward fumblings, even a time or two by people who knew what they were doing. This was nothing like those. It was sure and powerful and like my whole body had just come awake. I could feel my pounding heart, the press of silk against my skin, the strength of his arms around me, one hand buried deep in my hair, the other at my back, pulling me closer. The moment his lips met mine, the connection between us opened and I felt his power flood through me. I could feel how much he wanted me, and it was a heady thing—but behind that desire, I could feel something else, something that felt like anger.

I drew back, startled. Grasping at anything that might let me sidestep the feeling, said “I told you I like women.”

“You lied,” he murmured, his face inches from mine. He pressed a kiss to one corner of my mouth, and then the other. I shivered, proving his point.

“You don't want to be doing this,” I said. “I felt it.”

“This is the only thing I want to be doing,” he growled, and I could hear the bitterness and desire all tangled up in his voice.

“. . .And you hate that,” I said with a sudden flash of comprehension.

He sighed and leaned against me, brushing my hair back from my neck. “Maybe I do,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear, my throat, my collarbone.

My head fell back of its own accord, but I had to ask. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, his lips still brushing over my skin, his fingers sliding over the ribbons at my neckline. “Alina, do you know what Ivan told me before we took the stage? Tonight, we received word that my men have spotted Morozova’s herd. The key to the Shadow Fold is finally within our grasp, and right now, I should be in the war room, hearing their report. I should be planning our trip north. But I’m not, am I?”

My mind had shut down, given itself over to the pleasure coursing through me and the anticipation of where his next kiss would land.

“Am I?” he repeated and he nipped at my neck. I made a sound between a gasp and a moan. All I could manage in reply was a small sound in my throat. He had me pushed up against the door now, his hips hard against mine. “The problem with wanting,” he whispered, his mouth trailing along my jaw until it hovered over my lips, “is that it makes us weak.” He stayed that way until at last, when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, he brought his mouth down on mine.

His kiss was harder this time, laced with the anger I could feel lingering inside him. I didn't care. His hand slid down to my hip. I felt a little trill of panic as my skirt slid higher and his fingers closed on my bare thigh. It was just enough to allow what he had said to sink in.

I pushed him away. “I'm not a weakness,” I said through fast breaths.

I don’t know what might have happened next—at that moment we heard a loud clamor of voices from the hallway. A group of very noisy, very drunk people were careening down the corridor, and someone bumped heavily into the door, rattling the handle. The Darkling shoved his shoulder against the door so that it wouldn’t open, and the group moved on, shouting and laughing.

In the silence that followed, we stared at each other, breathing hard. Then he sighed and dropped his hand, letting the silk of my skirts fall back into place.

“I should go,” he murmured. “Ivan and the others are waiting for me.”

I nodded, looking away from him and not trusting myself to speak. I moved aside, and he opened the door a crack, glancing down the hallway to make sure it was empty.

“I won’t return to the party,” he said. “But you should, at least for a while.”

I nodded again, still not looking at him. I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I was standing in a dark room with a man I hardly knew, and only moments before had nearly had my skirts around my waist. And oddly, I felt somehow rejected.

He slipped through the doorway, but then he turned back to me. “Alina,” he said, and I could see that he was fighting with himself, “can I come to you tonight?”

Shocked, I hesitated. I knew that if I said yes, there would be no turning back. My skin still burned where he’d touched me, and I wanted more, but the excitement of the moment was melting away, and a bit of sense was returning. I didn't want to be something he considered a liability. And I didn't want to fall for someone else I could never have, who would never want me the way I wanted him.

I gave him a lopsided smile. “What's your hurry?” I asked, attempting to be wry. It was the best I could do: it wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a rejection, either.

Before he could reply, we heard more voices coming down the hall. The Darkling pulled the door shut, striding out into the hallway as I stepped back into the darkness.

The voices passed and I let out a long, shuddering breath, falling back against the door. My mind was whirring. I had to set myself to rights and get back to the party. I sat down heavily on the Queen's divan to catch my breath. That was when I realized that I hadn't thought about Mal once when the Darkling had been kissing me. I had been thinking of nothing and no one but the Darkling. I wasn't sure I wanted to think about what that might mean.

Unnerved (and excited, and unnerved that I felt excited) by the thought, I rose and peeked out into the corridor. Seeing it clear, I slipped out of the sitting room and hurried back toward the ballroom, stopping to check my appearance in one of the gilt mirrors. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. My cheeks were flushed, my lips a bit bruised looking, and my eyes looked dark and excited, but there was nothing I could do about that. I could create illusions fine, and I could bend light away from things and people, but I still had yet to successfully meld an illusion to a moving object. I smoothed my hair and straightened my kefta. As I was about to enter the ballroom, I heard a door open at the other end of the hallway. The Apparat was hurrying toward me, his brown robes flapping behind him. _Oh please, not now,_ I begged silently. If Baghra ever learned what a good motivator this man was for me to stick to my training, she'd probably arrange to have him paid.

“Alina!” he called.

“I have to get back to the ball,” I called back. “Excuse me. Another time!” I said cheerfully and turned to hurry away from him.

“I must speak with you! Things are moving far more quickly than—”

Abruptly, my temper snapped. I had had it with this man. “Than what?” I whirled around, my voice cracking like a whip. “I have things to attend to, and you persist on haunting me like a shadow, speaking of pain and suffering and things you know nothing about! Perhaps you might be so kind as to tell me what it is you want from me exactly, so I can stop fearing dark corners and deserted hallways!”

His face creased deeply as he frowned. He caught up to me, and his horrible musty smell washed over me. “I have never wanted you to fear me, Alina,” he said. “These are dangerous times, all of Ravka is at risk. Everything is about to change. But you, you can save the people, lead them in a way no other can. Already they worship you. I seek only to help you, to be a pillar for you. And I must warn you of what is coming.”

“Are you an oracle, then?” I snapped.

He smiled, his black gums and yellowed teeth peeking out from between his lips. “Not an oracle, no, merely a humble servant-”

“Alina!” A relieved voice called. I turned and saw Sergei hurrying toward me. He cast a quick glance toward the Apparat, but otherwise paid the man no attention. “There you are. We've been looking for you. We lost you after the show.” He looked. . .frankly, he looked like someone who was admitting a mistake to the Darkling. It was a little unnerving.

“Sorry, Sergei. The Darkling had. . .business, to discuss with me.” I tried not to flush at the clumsy lie. “It wasn't planned. Do I need to go back to the party?” I shot him a very sharp, pointed look.

Sergei's eyes flicked to the Apparat again. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Immediately. There are important guests waiting to talk to you.”

Without glancing back, I turned in the general direction of the Apparat, gave a very hasty, very shallow curtsy, and left without a word.

“Alina!” He called. “Wait, I must tell you-”

I whispered my thanks to Sergei and plastered what I hoped was a serene expression on my face. We slipped back into the party and the Apparat's voice buried in the din of music and voices. Almost instantly I was surrounded by nobles and courtiers and dignitaries hoping to meet me and congratulate me on the demonstration. My other Heartrender guards hurried over to us, murmuring apologies for losing me in the crowd. I glanced over my shoulder and was relieved to see the Apparat’s ragged form swallowed by a tide of partygoers. “Do not let him anywhere near me,” I told Sergei in a quiet, tight voice. His eyes darted in the direction of the entryway, and though he looked curious, he nodded and passed the message on to the other Heartrenders.

I did my best to make polite conversation and answer the questions that the guests asked. One woman had tears in her eyes and asked me to bless her. I had no idea what to do, so I summoned a warm glow to my hand and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder with it, feeling wildly uncomfortable. I was bursting to get out of the ballroom. After what had happened with the Darkling and my encounter with the Apparat, the crush of bodies was almost overwhelming. All I wanted was to be alone to think, to sort through the confused mess of emotions in my head. The champagne wasn’t helping, but at least it was keeping me from hitting anyone.

As one group of guests moved off to be replaced by another, I recognized the long, melancholy face of the Corporalnik who had ridden with me and Ivan in the Darkling’s coach and helped to fight off the Fjerdan assassins.

“Fedyor!” I cried, a wide smile blooming on my face.

He bowed deeply. “Kaminsky. I'm honored that you remember me.”

“Are you kidding? You were the only thing that kept me from throwing myself onto a knife during that entire coach ride. And you helped save my life from a couple dozen Fjerdan Assassins. That probably didn't hurt your chances, either.” I said with a grin.

“It seems the Darkling was right after all,” he said with a smile.

“Pardon?”

“You were so determined to convince us that you weren't what we thought.”

“Ah,” I said with a sheepish grin, trying to stuff down the fear that that was still true. “Well I try to make a habit of getting things hopelessly wrong from time to time. Keeps me humble.”

Fedyor barely had time to tell me of his new assignment near the southern border before he was swept away by another wave of impatient guests waiting to get their moment with the Sun Summoner. I tried to tell him goodbye and to thank him for saving me that day in the glen, but wasn't very successful, and it left me feeling annoyed. I had never been good at being on display, nor had I had much patience for entertaining asinine conversation. I tried to remember why I had been excited about tonight, and reminded myself that if I hadn't been dragged off and kissed, I would likely be finding it easier to enjoy the beautiful surroundings, the expensive gowns, and the soaring music.

I managed to keep talking and smiling for nearly an hour, but as soon as I had a free moment, I quickly told my guards that we were leaving and made a beeline for the doors.

The instant I was outside, I felt better. The night air was blessedly cold, the stars bright in the sky. I stopped and took a long, deep breath. I felt exhausted, but underneath that I found I was giddy, and my thoughts seemed to keep bouncing from excitement to anxiety and back again.

I shook my head, trying to make sense of the important things as we walked toward the Little Palace. The Darkling’s men had found the stag. I should be thinking about that, about my job, about the fact that I would soon have to kill an ancient mythical creature, about the power it would give me and the responsibility that would result. But all I could think about was his his lips on my neck, his hands, the press of his hips as he held me to the door, and the lean, hard feel of him in the dark. I took another deep breath of night air. He wouldn't come to my room tonight, would he? I had for all intents and purposes told him not to. Hadn't I? I wasn't sure how this was supposed to work. I should lock my door when I went to my room tonight, that would be the sensible thing to do. I didn't know if he wanted anything more from me than a tumble, and I wasn't sure how I felt about him, except that I felt drawn to him. But Genya said all Grisha felt that way. And I didn't even know him. I should lock my door. But I wasn't certain if I wanted to.

When we arrived at the Little Palace, Sergei and the others left me to return to the ball. The domed hall was silent, the fires in its tile ovens banked, its lamps glowing low and golden. Just as I was about to pass through the doorway to the main staircase, the carved doors behind the Darkling’s table opened. Hurriedly, I bent the light away from myself. I didn’t want to see the Darkling, not yet. What would I say to him? But it was just a group of soldiers crossing through the entry hall on their way out of the Little Palace. I wondered if they were the men who had come to report on the location of the stag. As the light from one of the lamps fell on the last soldier of the group, my heart nearly stopped.

“Mal?” I breathed. He turned, and I saw his face in the light and let myself reappear, partially cloaked by shadows. “Mal!” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered his grim expression, but it was lost in the sheer joy and relief I felt. I sprinted across the hall and threw my arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off his feet. He steadied himself and then pulled my arms from around him as he glanced at the other soldiers who had stopped to watch us. As soon as he'd edged me far enough away, I punched him hard on the shoulder. “Saints, Alina,” he complained, hand going to the spot.

“Why didn't you write me back?” I demanded, some of the hurt and confusion of the past several months creeping into my voice. I knew I was embarrassing him, but I didn’t care. I wanted to know what had happened, and if I was being honest, mostly I was just practically dancing with happiness at seeing him.

“Go on,” he said to the soldiers. “I’ll catch up to you.”

A few eyebrows were raised, and one man hid a smirk, but the soldiers disappeared through the main entrance, leaving us alone.

“Well?” I demanded.

“I didn't get any letters, Alina.”

“Saints' blood you didn't! I wrote you almost every day! I even snuck out of the palace and put one in the courier's hands myself.”

A look of confusion crossed his face. “You did?”

“Of course I did, you idiot! What do you think I've been doing without you, having parties? I've been miserable! I thought you-” I cut myself off quickly. I didn't want to go there with him, not now, preferably not ever. “What are you doing here?” I asked instead.

“Hell if I know,” Mal said with a weariness that surprised me. “I had a report to make to your master.”

“My. . . what?”

He just looked away and said, “I should go.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my elation splintering and crumbling, replaced with numb incredulity. “Why?” I asked, hurt.

He didn’t meet my eyes. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “We need to get ready to leave. We move constantly to track the herd. My unit is barely even in contact with the regiment anymore. Maybe that's why I didn't get any letters.”

He didn't sound like he believed it. There was such weariness in his voice. For the first time, I looked at him, really looked at him, and I saw how much he had changed. There were shadows beneath his blue eyes, and his hair was cropped shorter than I'd ever seen it. A jagged scar ran along the line of his unshaven jaw, freshly healed and livid. He was still Mal, but there was something harder about him, something cold and unfamiliar.

I smiled ruefully, hiding my worry and insecurity. “I should have guessed it was you who'd found the herd. My first day here, I even told the Darkling how good you were when he asked about you.” I paused. “You really didn’t get any of my letters, Mal? Not one?”

He shook his head, still wearing that same distant expression.

I didn’t know what to think. Mal wouldn't lie to me. My Mal wouldn't, but looking at him in front of me now, I wasn't sure how much of him was my Mal, the person I had always loved. Part of me whispered that if he really had just grown tired of me, if he was angry enough with me over breaking my promise, he'd say anything to get me to leave him alone now, but I refused to listen to it. That wouldn't be the Mal I had known almost my whole life. I had never seen him be that cold or cruel to anyone.

“Can you stay a little while longer?” I heard the pleading in my voice. I hated it, but I hated the thought of him leaving much more. “Please? I've missed you so much. You can’t imagine-”

He interrupted me with a rough bark of laughter. “I don’t need to imagine. I saw your demonstration in the ballroom. Very impressive.”

“You were there?”

“Yes. I was there,” he said harshly. “Do you know how worried I’ve been about you? No one knew what had happened to you, what they’d done to you. There was no way to reach you. There were even rumors you were being tortured. When the captain needed men to report back to the Darkling, like an idiot I made the trek down here just on the chance that I would find you.”

“You did?” That was hard for me to believe. I’d gotten so used to the idea of Mal’s indifference.

“Yes. And here you are, safe and sound, dancing and flirting like some cosseted little princess.”

My hurt and confusion vanished in a flash of white anger. “Excuse me?” I nearly hissed.

Mal scowled and stepped away from me.

I felt myself flush with indignation. “I thought you were mad at me, you ass! I thought you were glad I was gone, those were the only reasons I could think of that you wouldn't answer the seventy or so letters I've sent! I've been checking casualty lists every week since I got here, sure I must be wrong, that you wouldn't do that, terrified I'd find your name. I couldn't reach _you_ either! And then someone looked into it for me and I found out you were fine. Healthy and working with your unit, just not. . . that you didn't want to talk to me. But I still knew I must be wrong, I had to be, because that wasn't you.

"You weren't the only one who was afraid, or who didn't know what was happening. Now which one of us is here standing in front of the other, flinging insults and trying to leave as fast as they possibly can when we haven't seen each other in over six months?”

Confusion flitted over his face.

“Do you know what you saw tonight? The first time I have felt genuinely happy since I got here. For about two minutes. Do you want me to apologize for that? Should I have some hot pokers or a rack prepared to make you feel better? What was I supposed to do when they dragged me here, sit around and refuse to do anything until they threw me into a cell? Until they found the only person I cared about and threatened him? I'm supposed to save the Saints-cursed country, Mal! Should I have pouted and said no? You have _no idea_ what has happened since I got dragged out of Kribirsk. I haven't even been allowed into the city, never mind outside of it! Seeing me for two minutes on a stage doesn't give you the right to think you know what my life has been like since I got taken!”

I saw a strange weariness on his face, but that hard edge was still there. Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. Why were we fighting? Desperate, I reached out to lay a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “Mal, I didn’t ask for any of this. You know that. Better than anyone.”

He looked at me and then looked away. I felt some of the tension go out of him. Finally, he said, “I know you didn't. I'm sorry. I've missed you too, Alina.”

Again, I heard that terrible weariness in his voice.

“What happened to you?” I whispered.

He said nothing, just stared into the darkness of the hall.

I raised my hand and rested it on his stubbly cheek, gently turning his face to mine. “Tell me.”

He closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

I let my fingertips trail carefully over the raised skin of the scar on his jaw. “You can tell me anything. Has that changed?” I asked, some of my fear coming out in the tremble of my voice.

He pulled my hand from his face, holding it tightly, his blue eyes searching mine. “Are you happy here, Alina?”

The question took me by surprise.

“I. . .sometimes, I suppose.”

“Are you happy here _with him?”_

I gaped at him. I opened my mouth to answer, but I had no idea what to say.

“You're wearing his color,” he observed. “You’re wearing his symbol.” His glance flicked to the little gold charm hanging at my neckline.

“That's just politics, Mal. I came within an inch of cutting the damn charm off before I put this thing on. They're just clothes,” I protested.

Mal’s lips twisted in a cynical smile, a smile so different from the one I knew and loved that I almost flinched. “You don’t really believe that.”

“No, they're also a status symbol,” I allowed. “And without them, I actually would belong to someone by now, someone who's much worse than the Darkling. I didn't even choose this dress, or the shoes, any of it. It all just showed up in boxes tonight, and it was either wear this or go in a regular kefta and get laughed out of the ballroom. The show we put on was expected.” If I had been asked about the dress kefta, there was no reason I would have declined the color I already wore every day, but I didn't think now was a good time to tell him either of those things. _“With_ the Darkling? Saints, Mal, who are you talking to? I've had three conversations with the man since I got here. Short ones, and all about my training or my powers or the Fold. We don't exactly sit and play cards every night and drink tea together in the afternoons.”

A small group of Corporalki girls came into the hall, giggling and talking. I scowled at them and they hurried to leave.

Mal looked at me as if I had just proven a point.

“Don't,” I warned. Then I laughed, a biting sound, and yanked my hand from his grip. “How many women have I watched you take to bed over the years, Mal? Have you lost count yet? I have. It happens everywhere we go, and it has since we were young. When have I ever done anything but support you? Now you think I might be interested in someone, one person after all this time, and you do _this?_ You think I'm not even myself anymore? As if, what, I can't exist without following someone around like a puppy," my voice was steadily rising, "as if I don't have enough of a brain in my head to decide for myself who I am?" Sorrow warred with anger, and the rest of my words came out broken. "Is this what you think of me? Saints, Mal, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

He shook his head, his face set. “The clothes, Alina, the jewels, even the way you look. He’s all over you. It's obvious. And you don't even care.” I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His face hardened, making him seem even less like the Mal I remembered. “I guess I was stupid to think you would. Or even could.”

The words hit me like a slap. I took a step away from him, nearly stumbling. It felt like my knees would give out.

“How can you say that?”

“I saw how he looked at you,” he said.

“How he-? What does that even have to do with anything? I see the way women look at you everywhere you go!” I yelled. “Dozens of them, scores, since we were teenagers! You hypocrite!” I spat, furious. “He is not 'all over me,' and even if he was, you'd have no right to judge me, and you know it!”

Mal looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he suddenly deflated. His eyes closed and I saw that weariness again, that seemed to go deeper than I could fathom. “. . . You're right. I know you are.” He raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “Just, did it have to be him? He _took_ you, Alina. How can you be ok with that?”

“Because I have to be. I wasn't for a long time, but he did it for the right reasons. He did it for Ravka. And I'm not sorry he did, Mal. Not anymore.” Then, before I could stop myself, I added in a near whisper, “You had me our whole lives. It wasn't me who wasn't there. I wasn't me who never cared.”

Then he looked like I had slapped him.

Tentatively, I reached toward his face. He jerked away and laughed. It was a harsh, angry sound. He shook his head, that bitter smile playing on his lips. Suddenly I wanted to slap it right off his face.

“Just admit it,” he practically sneered. “He owns you.”

“What is wrong with you?" I hissed, incredulous. I lashed back, "At this point, I wish he did! And for Saints' sakes, if he owns _me,_ then he certainly owns _you,"_ I spat. "Who he is. . . he owns everyone," I finished with my own harsh laugh.

That wiped away his smile.

“No he doesn’t,” Mal said fiercely. “Not me. Not ever.”

I laughed again. “Really? Don’t you have someplace to be? Orders you're supposed to be following? Or better yet, friends to get back to, people who know you and who don't have to beg to keep you in the same room?”

Mal stood up straight, his face cold. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

He turned sharply and walked out the door.

For a moment, I stood there, the fire of my anger burning off, leaving me feeling like I had been gutted, and then I ran after him. I got all the way down the steps before I stopped myself. Fresh anger washed through me, and then the tears that had been threatening to overflow finally did, coursing down my cheeks. I felt like my chest was caving in on itself. “Mal?” I whispered, as I stared at the place where he'd disappeared. I wanted to follow him, to chase him down, to take back what I’d said, to put my arms around him and beg him to stay. But I’d spent my life running after Mal. I had locked away what I was for Mal. So instead, I stood in silence and let him go, feeling like a piece of me had just been snapped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/12/16: DL now watches Ivo as he walks away after coming off stage. (Internal dialogue: He touched her. Why did he touch her. You. Why did you touch her?) Is that a substantial change? Idk. *is maybe too literal*


	16. "No"

Only when I was in my room, the door closed securely behind me, did I let my sobs overtake me. I slid to the floor, my back pressed against the bed, my arms around my knees, trying to hold myself together.

By now, Mal would be leaving the palace, traveling back to Tsibeya to rejoin the other trackers hunting Morozova’s herd. The distance widening between us felt like a palpable thing. I felt further from him than I had in all the lonely months that had gone before.

I rubbed my thumb over the scar on my palm. “Come back,” I whispered brokenly, my body shaking with fresh sobs. “Come back.” But he wouldn’t. I’d as good as ordered him to leave. I would probably never see him again, and I ached with it.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark, crying. At some point I became aware of a soft knocking at my door. I sat up, trying to stifle my sniffling. It couldn't be the Darkling, could it? I couldn’t stand the idea of seeing him, my face tear-streaked and red and swollen, and having to explain my state to him. But I had to do something. I dragged myself to my feet and slowly opened the door.

A bony hand snaked through the opening and around my wrist, seizing me in an iron grip, and certainty shot through me.

“Baghra?” I asked, shocked as I peered at the woman standing at my door.

“Come,” she said, pushing the door open and pulling at my arm as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Leave me alone,” I said wearily. “It's not a good time. You can yell at me for whatever I did tomorrow.” I tried to pull away from her, but she was startlingly strong.

“You come with me now, girl,” she bit out. “Now!”

I wanted to yank my hand back purely because of the way she was speaking to me. But maybe it was the intensity of her gaze or the shock of seeing fear in her eyes that had me following her out the door instead.

She closed it quietly behind us, keeping hold of my wrist.

“What are you doing? What's wrong?”

“Quiet. Bend the light away from us.”

I did, my confusion deepening by the moment.

Instead of turning right and heading toward the main staircase, she dragged me in the opposite direction to the other end of the hall. She pressed a panel in the wall, and a hidden door swung open. She gave me a shove. I stumbled down the narrow spiral staircase. Every time I looked back at her, she gave me another little push. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Baghra stepped in front of me and led me down a cramped hallway with bare stone floors and plain wooden walls. It looked almost naked compared to the rest of the Little Palace, and I thought we might be in the servants’ quarters.

Baghra grabbed hold of my wrist again and tugged me into a dark, empty chamber. She lit a single candle, locked and bolted the door, then crossed the room and reached up on her tiptoes to draw closed the curtain on the tiny basement window. The room was sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, a simple chair, and a washbasin.

“Here,” she said, shoving a pile of clothes at me. “Put these on.”

“Why?”

“You must leave this place. Tonight.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to keep you from spending the rest of your life as a slave. Now get changed.”

“A. . . . As a what? Can you tell me what's going on, please? It's been a really long night and I don't have patience for things that don't make sense.”

“We don’t have much time. The Darkling is close to finding Morozova’s herd. Soon he will have the stag.”

“Right,” I said uncertainly, my heart giving a fresh stab at the reminder of Mal. “That's been the plan for months. Or generations, depending on who you ask. To find the animal that you don't believe exists.” I dabbed a hand under my eyes, trying to wipe away tears that hadn't quite stopped spilling. My voice was thick and my nose stuffy from the time I'd spent sobbing.

She waved her arm as if brushing away my words. “That’s what I told him. I hoped that he might give up the stag’s pursuit if he thought it was nothing but a peasant tale. But once he has it, nothing will be able to stop him.”

 _“From?”_ I wasn't quite able to keep the impatience from my voice.

“Using the Fold as a weapon.”

For a moment, I stood there unmoving. “As. . .a weapon.” I repeated dumbly. “Will that be before or after he builds a summer home there?”

Baghra seized hold of my arm, “This isn’t a joke!”

There was a desperate, unfamiliar edge to her voice, and her grip on my arm was nearly painful. What was wrong with her? “No, I agree," I said. "It's not funny at all. So I'd like you to start making sense before I leave and go tell someone that you need to be admitted to the infirmary.”

“I’m not sick and I’m not insane,” she spat. “You must listen to me.”

“Must I?” I snapped. “I might have mentioned I don't have a surplus of patience right now! How and why would he use the Fold as a weapon, exactly?” I didn't believe a word she was saying, but I thought that maybe if she could get it out of her system I could get away from her faster and go back to my room.

She leaned into me, her fingers digging into my flesh. “By expanding it.”

“. . .Right. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm fairly certain you've gone completely out of your mind.”

“The land that the Unsea covers was once green and good, fertile and rich. Now it is dead and barren, crawling with abominations. The Darkling will push its boundaries north into Fjerda, south to the Shu Han. Those who do not bow to him will see their kingdoms turned to desolate wasteland and their people devoured by ravening volcra.”

I gaped at her, shocked by the images she had conjured, the amount of thought she'd clearly put into this, and starting to feel a little disturbed. What in the name of all Saints had gotten into her?

“Baghra,” I said gently, “please think about what you're saying. Even if that were possible, why would anyone do it? The Darkling isn't a monster, he wants to _save_ Ravka. To destroy the Shadow Fold. That's a good thing.”

“No!” she cried, and it was almost a howl. “He never intended to destroy it. The Fold is his creation.”

And with that, I was out of patience. “Ok. Yes. He's the reincarnation of his lunatic ancestor come to conquer the world. I'll be sure and send out a warning first thing in the morning. I'll let the King know on my way to bed, too. Goodnight, Baghra.” I turned to leave, sighing wearily.

“He _is_ the Black Heretic,” she said furiously, whirling me back around and putting her face mere inches from mine. “Look at me, girl!”

“Stop calling me girl!” I snapped.

“I am over nine hundred years old,” she said in a strangely hollowed-out voice. Then something in her eyes opened and I took an involuntary step back because I saw, as clearly as if I had been standing at its edge, an abyss. Ancient, ceaseless, and yawning, the unending emptiness of a life lived too long. “You are less than an infant to me. What else would I call you?”

I took another step back. Then I froze at the sight before me.

Darkness was pooling in Baghra’s palms, the skeins of inky blackness floating into the air.

“You do not know him, Alina.” It was the first time she had ever used my name. “But I do.”

I stood there watching dark spirals unfurl around her, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Searching Baghra’s strange features, I suddenly saw the explanation clearly written there, and wondered how I had never noticed it. How little attention must I have been paying all this time to miss what had been right in front of me every day? I saw the ghost of what must have once been an exquisitely beautiful woman, a woman with gray eyes who had once given birth to an equally beautiful son.

“You’re his mother?” I choked, disbelief in my voice and a plea for her to tell me I was wrong.

She nodded. “I am not mad. I am the only person who knows what he truly is, what he truly intends. And I am telling you that you must _run.”_

The Darkling had claimed he didn’t know what Baghra’s power was. But he had lied to me. She was his mother, and he had lied to me.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, trying to make sense of what Baghra was telling me. She was wrong. She had to be. I shook my head again. “No. No, the Black Heretic lived hundreds of years ago. He'd be almost as old as you say you are.”

“He has served countless kings, faked countless deaths, bided his time, waiting for you. Once he takes control of the Fold, no one will be able to stand against him.”

“But why would he do that? He's not a monster!” I repeated. A shiver went through me. “The Fold was a mistake, he said so himself! He called the Black Heretic evil.”

“The Fold was no mistake.” Baghra dropped her hands and the swirling darkness around her melted away. “The only mistake was the volcra. He did not anticipate them, did not think to wonder what power of that magnitude might do to mere men.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “The volcra were human?”

“Oh yes. Generations ago. Farmers and their wives, their children. I warned him that there would be a price, but he didn’t listen. He was blinded by his hunger for power. Just as he is blinded now.”

“No. No, you’re wrong,” I said, trying to shake the bone-deep cold stealing through me. “You have to be. You’re lying.”

_I've been waiting for you a long time, Alina. You and I are going to change the world._

_I told you that you were my answer. And you are._

“Only the volcra have kept him from using the Fold against his enemies. They are his punishment, a living testimony to his arrogance. But you will change all that. The monsters cannot abide sunlight. Once the Darkling has used your power to subdue the volcra, he will be able to enter the Fold safely. He will finally have what he wants. There will be no limit to his power.”

I shook my head. “He wouldn’t do that. Why would he do that?” I nearly cried. I remembered the night he’d spoken to me by the fire in the broken-down barn, the shame and sorrow in his voice. _I’ve spent my life searching for a way to make things right. You’re the first glimmer of hope I’ve had in a long time._ “He wants to make Ravka whole again. He said—”

“Stop telling me what he said!” she snarled. “He is ancient. He’s had plenty of time to master lying to a lonely, naive girl.” She advanced on me, her black eyes burning. “Think, Alina. If Ravka is made whole and the Kingdom can stand for itself once more, the Second Army will no longer be vital to its survival. The Darkling will be nothing but another servant of the King. Is that his dream of the future?”

 _We all serve someone,_ he had said with a harsh edge in his voice.

_The King is a child._

I was starting to shake. “Stop. Please, Baghra. Please stop.”

“With the Fold in his power, he will spread destruction before him. He will lay waste to the world, and he will never have to kneel to another King again.”

“No.”

“All because of you.”

“No!” I shouted at her. “Even if this is true, I would never do that! I would never help anyone hurt so many people!”

“You won’t have a choice. The stag’s power belongs to whoever slays it.”

I felt my brow furrow in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything? He can't use an amplifier, he said so himself.”

“He can use you,” Baghra said softly. “Morozova’s stag is no ordinary amplifier. He will hunt it. He will kill it. He will take its antlers, and once he places them around your neck, you will belong to him completely. You will be the most powerful Grisha who has ever lived, and all that newfound power will be his to command. You will be bound to him forever, and you will be powerless to resist.”

It was the pity in her voice that finally undid me. Pity from the woman who’d never allowed me a moment’s weakness or rest.

My legs gave way, and I slid to the floor. I held my head in my hands, trying to block out Baghra’s words. But I couldn’t stop memories from tumbling together into new shapes, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together into a picture that I only now realized I hadn't seen clearly before.

I didn't want it to make sense, but it did. He had lied to me about Baghra. _His mother,_ a harsh voice in my mind corrected. Had he also lied about his age? Who he really was? His plans for the Fold, and for me, and for the stag and for the future of Ravka?

Baghra had begged him to give me another amplifier, but he’d insisted it had to be the stag’s antlers. A necklace—no, a collar—of bone. And when I’d pushed him, when I'd asked him about her and about what she'd meant when she'd said we'd suffer for his pride, almost immediately he’d kissed me and I’d forgotten all about it. I remembered his perfect face in the lamplight, his stunned expression, his beautifully rumpled hair making him look so human.

With horror, I realized. . .Genya. That night by the lake, I'd blurted that I didn't like men, and then Genya had begun flirting with me. She had kissed me. When I'd told her that I had lied to the Darkling, she had dropped it, insisting it had been a mistake. But as soon as I had seen the Darkling next. . . .

_You lied._

Genya had told me that the Darkling was just as much a slave to the whims of the King as the rest of us, _for now._

I had given all my letters to her, and Mal had never gotten them. The Darkling had known about my trip to the courier at the gates, she could have had that one stopped, too.

Genya, warning me that he wasn't like everyone else. Warning me not to fall for him. Why would she do that?

_I guess I’m asking you to trust me._

Suddenly I wanted very badly to hit something.

But I had felt his desire tonight. It had been real. So had his anger and resentment over it.

Had everything been deliberate? The kiss by the lakeshore, stroking my scar, trying to make me feel like I had a place with him and the Grisha and that no one else could understand me? Every human gesture, every whispered confidence, even what had happened between us tonight?

I seethed at the thought and at the same time, felt fresh tears welling in my eyes. I could still feel his warm breath on my neck, hear his whisper against my skin. _The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak._

That much, at least, I could believe. And how right he was. I’d wanted so badly to belong somewhere. To want someone who might want me in return. I’d been so happy to keep his secrets, his confidences, so pleased every time I thought he showed me the smallest pieces of himself. Why would I bother to question what he might really want, what his true motives might be? I’d been too busy believing that I mattered and picturing myself at his side as we saved Ravka. Treasured, needed, wanted. _I must have made it so easy for him,_ I thought, stunned.

He had warned me that the age of Grisha power was coming to an end. And now his mother warned me that he would never let that happen.

I took a shaky breath and tried to still my trembling. I thought of poor Alexei and all the others who had been left to die in the black reaches of the Fold. I thought of the ashen sands that had once been soft brown earth. I thought of the volcra, the first victims of his arrogance and greed.

_Did you really think I was done with you?_

I rose slowly to my feet, hard with resolve. “I need to do something,” I said, moving toward the door.

Her arm shot out and gripped my arm. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Everything he's ever told me is a lie. Right? And I was so naive to believe him, to believe his act, to take him at his word. 'You don't know him. He's been lying to you.' Do I know you so much better? Which apparent stranger who's been hiding what they really are should I believe, Baghra? I told him I'd trust him. If I have nothing else, that has to mean something to me. I'm going to find out if you're telling the truth. If you are, I'll come straight back here and I'll leave tonight.” I tried to pull my arm from her hand, but her grip was unyielding.

“He will see straight through you, girl. You have no idea how much he sees.”

“He has no reason to doubt me right now, I've been eating out of his hand! I've been lying to people much older and much smarter than myself my entire life. Maybe it's stupid, maybe it's just another way I'll end up being a fool. But I don't need much, Baghra. Just one small thing, one crack, and I'll know. Then at least I'll be able to say I tried when it mattered.”

She still didn't let go.

“If you don't like it,” I leaned in and hissed, “then either kill me or knock me out and send me out of the city with someone, because I am going to do this. So _let go of my arm._ ”

We stared at each other for a long, tense moment. “Foolish girl,” she said, but released her hold. “You will be the end of us all.”

I hurried to the door, trying to ignore her warning and a small voice in me that was thrashing and shouting that she was likely right. “He's probably in a meeting. I'll talk to him as soon as he's done. No offense, but I really hope I don't see you again tonight.” _Or ever,_ I added silently.

I felt her hard, cold stare on my back as I hurried through the door and back up the stairs.

I bent the light away from myself and made my way back through the hidden passage I'd used to leave the Darkling's war room so many months ago. Slowly and carefully, I created a false image of the inner door and turned the actual door invisible. It took concentration, but if I did it right, I could open the hidden panel and go through, while to everyone inside it would appear as if it sat unmoving in the wall. I had done this plenty of times at Keramzin, and it was much easier now that I had training, but sneaking around an orphanage and sneaking through the Darkling's war room while he was holding session were two entirely different things.

My heart thudded as I pushed the panel open. I uttered a silent prayer of thanks for the well-oiled hinges and slipped through the passageway, slowly closing the door behind me. The latch clicked shut softly and the Darkling's eyes snapped up to it. Instinctually, I froze. I had always assumed Baghra had told him everything I could do. I hoped now that I had been wrong. After a moment, his eyes went back to the table and I heaved a silent breath of relief.

The Darkling and several Grisha and soldiers were leaned over the war table looking at a map, discussing our trip north based on the reports from Mal's unit. I listened for a moment, but didn't hear anything that sounded important, so I silently made my way down the hall and repeated my light-bending trick. I slipped through the double doors leading to the Darkling's chambers to wait. I heard him pause when I turned the handle on the door to his room and froze, but he resumed speaking quickly enough.

When I had the door safely closed behind me, I let my illusion fall and breathed for what felt like the first time since I had entered the war room. I looked around. I was in a rather formal common room furnished with a long table and a few uncomfortable-looking chairs. Each wall was set with a pair of double doors. Everything was decorated in dark colors, accented in black silks. In front of a generous, lit fireplace was a small sitting area with two arm chairs that looked like you could actually sit on them without fracturing a hip bone. Between them was a small, square table with a book on it. I picked it up and opened it to the marked page, but it was written in a language I didn't know.

I paced for a time, unable to stay still. Baghra's words ran through my head over and over, and I realized I had no idea what I was going to say to him. I had come straight here without stopping to think. I had plenty of practice lying, but I didn't think for a moment that it would be easy to fool someone who was centuries old. I wasn't especially clever, either. But maybe I could use that to my advantage. I'd found playing dumb and vulnerable tended to work more often than not, especially against men, _especially_ against men in positions of power. The Darkling was clever and observant, but if I seemed sincere enough. . . . As long as I didn't oversell it, it was probably the best chance I had. I could only pray he wouldn't see through me, as he seemed to have from the first moment we'd met.

 _Foolish girl,_ Baghra had said. I started to worry that she was right. I believed what she had told me tonight. I had seen the truth of her identity in her face. So why was I standing here, trying to think of a way to trick information that I already believed out of a man who was probably at least seven hundred years old?

I leaned back against a wall and let my head fall against it with a thud. I slid down to the floor, feeling my eyes start to prick again. I felt hopeless. I felt like a fool. Tears, from frustration and fear and bitter anger spilled over my cheeks.

I swiped my hands under my eyes roughly, and picked a book from the shelf next to me at random. At least I could distract myself until he got here. But when I opened it and flipped to a page somewhere near the middle, I found distraction impossible. My mind kept running through everything from the last several months that took on new meaning in light of what Baghra had told me.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that when the latch to his room clicked open, I jumped. It opened a crack and I heard murmured voices – the Darkling and Ivan. They exchanged a few words, and I looked over from my spot, mostly hidden behind a small table, and saw the door swing wide and the Darkling enter. A charcoal-clad arm closed it behind him.

I took a deep breath, but couldn't make myself move. I watched as he walked across the room to bend over a desk. He took out a pot of ink and was about to put pen to paper when he stopped. He held himself unmoving, then looked up and turned his head to where I was sitting.

“Alina?” He sounded surprised, but not nearly as much as I would have imagined.

“You were expecting another girl dressed in black to have snuck into your sitting room to peruse your book collection?”

He stood up and walked to me. I had to fight not to tense as he neared. He held out a hand to help me up, and our connection flared the instant our skin touched. Once I was standing, I tried not to pull my hand away too quickly.

“You came through the war room?” It only barely sounded like a question.

I couldn't help but smile. “Latches. They've been my nemesis since childhood. My compliments on the well-maintained hinges, though.”

“You can turn yourself invisible?”

I felt surprise on my face. I was so used to him knowing everything, and had assumed that like everyone else, Baghra had been giving him full reports on my progress. “Orphan, remember? My primary occupation before getting conscripted was to get into every sort of trouble imaginable. My powers gave me an edge, and I milked it for everything it was worth.” I was fighting the urge to fidget, so I moved and sat down in one of his chairs and toyed with the book in my hands instead. “It was after a science class that I came up with the idea. It took years of practice and a good deal of help to get it right.”

His lips twitched. “Clever.”

“Oh that's nothing,” I said with a grin, getting to into it.

I was awash with conflicting emotions. It was unnerving how easy it was to talk to him, even now. How much I wanted to tell him. At the same time, I felt as if my skin was crawling, and I wanted nothing more than to be away from him as quickly as possible. I had never seen him as a threat before. Dangerous, certainly, but not to me.

Foolish.

“So. . .how did the meeting go?” I asked. “Are we set to travel?”

He nodded, watching me closely, as if looking for something. “We leave the day after tomorrow. We'll take a small contingent of people north to where the herd is. My trackers will capture the stag and have it waiting for us, if they can.”

I felt a small jab, remembering how Mal had reacted when I'd said he belonged to the Darkling.

I nodded and looked down at my hands, still toying with the book. I swallowed loudly.

The Darkling walked forward and picked it up off my lap. He glanced at at the cover. “I didn't know you spoke Fjerdan.”

I breathed a laugh. “That would explain why I've been staring at the same paragraph since I got here. My mind might have been running away with me.”

“. . .Have you been crying?”

I looked up, surprised.

“Your eyes are red.”

I flushed, swiping my fingers over my cheeks, though I knew it would do no good. “Ah, yes. Sorry. I figured it would be gone by now. I ran into an old friend tonight." I paused. "It didn't go well.” I couldn't tell him the reasons I'd kept crying, and I didn't want to be talking about this with him, anyway. This was the last thing I wanted to be talking about with him.

He sat in the chair on the other side of the small table and set the book down. “The tracker?”

My eyes darted up to his face. He was looking at me calmly. I laughed despite myself, a deprecating sound. “I really should stop being surprised when you put things together like that.” I felt like my skin was humming, worrying over what else he might be putting together. How much was I giving away without realizing it? If I was smart, I would make an excuse now and leave. But I knew I wouldn't.

For a moment, the only sound was the fire crackling away in the large hearth.

He sighed softly and leaned back, looking into the flames. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

I waited for him to explain.

“The two of you were together for a long time. You were close?"

I knew he meant Mal. I nodded minutely.

He returned the gesture as if I had confirmed something he had already known. Which he probably had. _You have no idea how much he sees,_ Baghra had said. "He knew about your powers." This time, it wasn't a question. "How many years did he have you to himself? Your ability, leashed and chained, just for him?" He sounded cold, and almost sad.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he went on.

"You're more than what you were even a few short months ago.” He said. “You've always had power he'll never know, and you've grown into it since you came here. You've grown into yourself. It's obvious even to anyone who doesn't know you. The King noticed," something dark swept over his face, but he banished it quickly, "and how often has he seen you since you arrived? You left your friend, and came into yourself as a result. He obviously took it personally.

"The woman you were when you came here was a shadow of who you are now. You're beautiful.” He said it simply, but his slate eyes were focused on mine. He smiled almost wryly, as if he'd just confessed a secret. Despite myself, I blushed, then felt a wave of consternation over it. “You're powerful,” he went on. “You are already loved by people who know nothing about you, and soon you'll be the savior of Ravka. It's natural for an otkazat'sya to be jealous of that, and for him to be unable to understand what you've become. He thought you were his treasure, his secret, and you've stepped away and shown him that you aren't. Once you have the antlers, it will become even more obvious. You'll find fewer people in the world able to understand what you are. Who you are." He huffed a laugh, and it almost sounded angry on my behalf. "All these years you were at his side, and he never saw your value. Now that he does, instead of being happy for you, he's angry. He doesn't deserve your sorrow, Alina.”

I wanted to argue, but I felt something in myself slipping. I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it. _It's not like that,_ I wanted to say. But that wasn't why I was here, and I didn't want to talk about Mal. I couldn't stomach it.

I cleared my throat and steered the conversation back on track. “I've never killed anything as large as a stag,” I said, letting myself sound a little nervous. It was a lie. I'd killed an elk by sending a beam of light through its chest once, but only Mal and I knew about that. We'd both been young enough that we'd thrown up afterward.

“You may not have to,” he said as if offering a reprieve. I felt my heart sink. When I didn't reply, he said, “I thought it might be a fitting gift.”

“A gift?” I asked, trying not to sound incredulous. Hoping I sounded more surprised than ill. “How would that work when I have to be the one to kill it if I want to use its power?”

He leaned forward. “Power isn't the only way the stag differs from other amplifiers. Its power does belong to whoever kills it, but it can be granted to another.”

Exactly as Baghra had said.

“What would stop them from just taking the power back, then?”

“It can only bond to one Grisha, just like any other amplifier. Once it's given, there's no taking it back.” He paused, then looked back into the fire. “I've hinted at what you mean to me, Alina.” Despite everything I had learned tonight, my stupid heart fluttered. “I've told you that generations of Darklings have been waiting for you. I'm the one you came to. I don't think that's a coincidence, just like it's not a coincidence that the stag has finally appeared. You're going to be fulfilling a dream that has been kept alive by my line for hundreds of years. The stag is a creature of myth – in many ways, you have been, too. We've waited, hoping, not knowing if something like you would ever appear. I thought the stag's power would be a fitting way of showing you how much you mean to me.”

_He’s had plenty of time to master lying to a lonely, naive girl._

And suddenly, I saw it. The way he steered me, told me exactly what I wanted to hear. I felt ill. 'You're important, Alina. You matter to me, Alina. Now help me put you in chains, Alina.' And I felt angry. It took me a moment to squash the feelings enough that I felt I could speak without it coloring my words. I looked down.

As if he was reading my mind, he asked, “You don't agree?”

“. . .It's not that,” I said slowly, trying to decide what tack to choose. I opted for part of the truth. “I'm grateful for everything you've done for me.” I felt a wash of revulsion at the words, but hurried on. “It hasn't been easy, but that's not new. I told you I felt like I hadn't earned any of it. I think I don't like the idea of having this handed to me, too.” I looked up at him to find him watching me, his face unreadable. “So much has changed in such a short time, and soon I'm supposed to close the Shadow Fold." I paused, looking for a way to put this in his language. "Rather than a gift, wouldn't it be better if I chose to embrace my destiny? For once? To walk into it rather than have it handed to me, rather than being tossed around like a toy boat on the sea? Maybe I want to step into the role, to choose it, instead of just being jerked around.” I chose the last words intentionally.

He didn't speak for a long minute. He seemed to be thinking. “The dagger,” he finally said.

“What?”

“The druskelle. The Fjerdan witch hunter. You took his dagger. You have an appreciation for symbolism,” he said with a half smile hinting at his lips.

Maybe I did. I looked down at the sleeve under which the scar he'd given me that day in Kribursk hid, and down to the one on my palm. He was probably right. Either way, I latched onto the notion. “You put me in black. And put your symbol on me.” I looked down and toyed with the golden charm at my neckline. His eyes traced the motion. “You brought someone into your life who you didn't know anything about and invited her to be your partner, of a sort. Can't that be enough? Honestly it would mean more to me if you helped me choose this than it could if you just handed it to me. Chose it for me. I wouldn't have this chance at all if not for you, anyway.”

I knew it was hopeless. I knew who he was now. I knew _what_ he was. He would find some way to say no, and to make it sound like the only real option. But part of me, however small, still hoped that he would acquiesce. Prayed, begged. That Baghra was wrong, that I was wrong, that this was all a bad dream.

He looked at me for so long I was starting to think he wasn't going to answer. “This is important to you,” he said. It was so quiet, I would have thought he was talking to himself if he hadn't been looking right at me.

I nodded once, my face set.

After a pause, a breath puffed from his nose and a small smile broke onto his face. “I hope I find it easier to say no to you in the future, Alina.”

For a moment, I was frozen. Then I shook myself. “Wait, what?” I asked, certain I had heard him wrong. “Really?”

He canted his head at me slightly.

“I mean. . . .” _You're really going to let me kill the stag?_ I wanted to blurt. “I guess I just didn't think you'd give up so easily.” Something in my head was buzzing.

Bahgra was wrong. I was so relieved it felt as if my skin was tingling. He didn't want to own me, he wanted to help me. He wanted to help Ravka. Baghra must be insane. Maybe she had made up a story because she had the same power he did – maybe she even believed what she had told me. But if any of it had been true, there would be no way he would have given in so easily. A man who was obsessed with power and control and had been waiting to exercise it over a Sun Summoner for hundreds of years would never abandon his plan like this. I'd have to tell him about her. But not tonight. Tonight had already been far too long.

“You said it was important to you,” he said.

“It is!” I hurried. “It is. Thank you,” I said sincerely, with an incredulous laugh. I suddenly felt foolish for having come here at all.

He was watching me as if trying to work something out. I looked over at him, smiling.

“Alina, why did you come here?”

I blinked at him. “To ask you about the stag.”

He shook his head. “It would have kept until morning. Or you could have waited outside the war room until I finished.” He looked at me a long moment. “Instead, you snuck into my chambers. And you've been nervous since I got here,” he added with a twitch of his lips.

I felt myself pale. “It's a nervous topic,” I said weakly. My voice was unsteady, and I cleared my throat. “It's not every day you learn a mythical creature is real and that you're about to save a country single-handedly. Well. . .mostly single-handedly. Three quarters-handedly?”

“I don't doubt that you wanted to know about the stag. But that's not why you really came here. Is it?”

I swallowed thickly, my mind scrambling for a way to turn this around.

He stood up and moved to stand in front of me. He held a hand out, and I took it uncertainly, watching his carefully blank face. He couldn't know. Right?

_You have no idea how much he sees._

I pulled my hand from his, waiting in the pit of my stomach for the ax to fall, but not wanting to risk being the first one to speak.

The Darkling's eyes dropped to the charm at my neckline. One of his hands lifted to toy with it. I felt a jolt when his fingers brushed against my skin as he reached for it, and let out a shaky breath.

His eyes swept up to meet mine. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet. “Why did you really come here, Alina?” Something caught fire behind his eyes as he held my gaze.

_Oh._

“I. . . .” I groped around for what to say. “I wanted--” _to ask about the stag,_ I was about to repeat, but before I could, his mouth was on mine and he was pushing me, guiding me until my back bumped against a large dresser. His breath was hot and his mouth hungry against mine. A small sound came from my throat, and it only seemed to encourage him. He shoved me against the dresser, pinning me with his body.

“I have never,” he growled, certainty and his desire flooding me through our connection, along with impatience and that same anger from before, “had to fight so hard to concentrate as I did in the war room tonight.” His teeth nipped at me, making me gasp, as his mouth trailed its way from below my ear, down along my neck, to the hollow of my throat. “One of my men had to repeat himself.” He said it as if the very idea was disgusting. His mouth found mine again and it was almost punishing. I felt the cool silk of my dress against my skin as his hands skimmed over it, gripping and holding and tracing lines that left tingling heat in their wake. I shivered.

One of his thighs pressed between mine, parting my legs around it. It brushed upward, and I jerked in surprise at the contact, yanking myself back.

He looked at me, his pupils wide and lips reddened. He was so beautiful. I swallowed.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice rough. The sound of it sent a tremor down my spine.

“I haven't. . .this is. . .I've never, um.” I stuttered, feeling my face turn red, then redder still in my embarrassment over not knowing how to say it.

Fortunately, I didn't have to say any more. I saw in his face the moment he understood.

And then he pulled his thigh back and a small laugh escaped him.

Instantly angry, I shoved him away. He gripped my wrists. “No, Alina. Listen.” He said. “Did you know I wasn't even supposed to be in Kribursk the day I found you?”

“What?” I snapped.

He regarded me, his face serious. He was breathing hard. “I was on my way south, passing close to the Fold. I was made aware of an asinine political problem there, and chose to ignore it. I nearly passed by, but at the last moment, I changed my mind and my coach raced to the Fold instead.”

“You nearly ran me over.”

“What?”

“Your coach. It passed my unit on the road. It nearly ran right over me. It would have, but someone yanked me out of the way at the last second.” I didn't think it would be a good time to mention who had saved me.

He shook his head, a small smile spreading over his lips. “You keep surprising me. I'm not used to that. I certainly didn't anticipate wanting you. You've been a series of chances, accidents, coincidences. . . . Everything about you speaks of fate, Alina. I'm starting to think you were meant to be mine.”

I felt the anger drop from my face and heat flooded through me. It took a moment to find my voice. When I did, it was hesitant. “Before I came here, I had been in love with one person my whole life. I tried to be with other people, but every time I did, it felt like I was betraying him.” I looked into his slate eyes, focused on me as they were, and saw that he knew I meant Mal. I had to glance away. “You're the first person who's ever touched me without him running through my mind. But someone told me that everyone feels that way, that all Grisha feel drawn to you.”

“Do you think it's any different for you? Do you pay attention to the way they look at you, Alina?”

I felt my brow furrow in confusion.

He laughed softly and shook his head. “It's easier for me – I keep myself apart. It makes the distance and the interest and the attention more obvious. But they look at you, too. They watch. Their eyes follow you, they seek you out. Especially since you've gotten stronger. I've even seen Ivan doing it.”

My mouth fell open.

One side of his lips quirked up, but it didn't look like a happy expression. “I don't think he wants you, if it makes you feel any better. But he's drawn to you. They all are, in their way, even though you aren't separated from them like I am. Grisha are different from otkazat'sya. Genya and you and I are unique among Grisha. But you and I, Alina, we are different from _everyone_ else. Our power sets us apart, yes, but it's more than that. You'll understand once you have the antlers.” He looked at me a long moment, then brought a hand up to stroke my cheek. Our connection flared under the contact. My eyelids fluttered closed. “I never thought I would find you. And now you're here, and you're so much more than I could have anticipated.”

I snorted, but the expression died at the serious look on his face. I felt desire swell in him through our connection, but more than that was a hunger so deep and vast that it was more than I could understand. There was rightness there, too.

I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me again, but at the last moment I blurted, "I should get some sleep."

He regarded me closely, the blaze behind his eyes simmering again. "You should stay," he said.

I felt my skin flush and swallowed, hard. "Its been a long night," I said weakly.

After a long moment, he huffed out a breath and pushed away from the dresser, severing our connection. “I'll walk you out.”

For a moment I felt disoriented. I didn't want to rush into this headlong, but the sudden loss of contact left me feeling somehow adrift. It took effort to pull myself away from the dresser and follow him back into the war room.

He put a hand on the door to the domed hall and then stopped. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he pulled the door open. “Good night, Alina,” he said, his voice silken and low.

“Good night,” I managed in a whisper and moved past him.

“Ivan,” the Darkling called as I headed toward the stairs. I turned my head and saw the big Heartrender smirking at me. I was tempted to light the hem of his kefta on fire. Instead, I smiled back acidly and headed up the stairs.

But something pricked at me.

_He’s had plenty of time to master lying to a lonely, naive girl._

I believed him. But it seemed foolish to have come this far and leave anything to chance. As soon as I was out of sight of the guards, I broke into a sprint and headed for the secret passage leading back to the war room. I thanked Botkin silently for pushing me so hard these past months, or it would have been impossible to keep my breaths silent as I came to a stop on the other side of the hidden door. I heard low voices inside, speaking so quietly I almost couldn't hear them. I pressed my ear to the panel cautiously.

“-oward her room when I came in here,” Ivan was saying.

“You're certain?”

There was a brief pause, and the Heartrender asked, “Do you want me to send someone to check?”

Another pause, this one longer. “She came to speak to me about the stag. She's determined to be the one to kill it.”

They were silent for so long that I started to fear they somehow knew someone was listening. But then Ivan asked, “Are you going to let her?”

I felt my skin prickle. _Let_ me?

There was a soft sigh, and then one word, so quiet I almost didn't hear it: “No.”

It felt like the floor dropped away. It was like he had punched me in the stomach with that word, knocking all the air out of me, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. I held a hand out to the wall to support myself.

He wanted to use me. Worse than that, he wanted to take away the one thing that had ever really belonged to me, the only thing that had made me special, the only power I’d ever had.

“Arrange an accident, something to separate us when we get close to the herd. I'll take it down and tell her it was either that, or risk losing it forever.”

“Understood. Is there anything else?”

Another pause, then footsteps moving away. “Ivan,” the Darkling said suddenly. “Go straight to her room and make sure she's there.”

A thrill of panic went through me and I turned and rushed back up the passage as quickly as I could without making any sound. I slipped through the door on the other end and then hurried to my room on silent feet. I was still breathing heavily when his knock came at the door. “Yes?” I called a little too quickly. There was no answer. I moved to the door and listened at the crack. After a moment, footsteps walked off down the hall.

My mind was racing, panic and urgency quickly giving way to anger and determination. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him anymore.

I pulled my mirrored gloves from a drawer, picked up the dagger Botkin had given me, strapped it to my thigh, and was almost to the door when I realized that Baghra had only had one set of traveling clothes with her in the secret room. Was she mad? I hurried to the desk and scribbled down a note.

  
_I found out about the stag's antlers in a book I imagine you never intended for me to find. I_

 _know_ _what w_ _ould happen if you were to give them to me -_ all _of what would happen._

_That was why I went to you tonight. I needed to know if my trust was misplaced._

_I heard you talking to Ivan after I left your quarters._

_You won't find me, and I'm not coming back._

 

I would find a way to help Ravka on my own, but I wasn't about to tell him that, to give him any clue about where I might be going or what I might be doing.

I didn't address it, and I didn't sign it. There was no need. I folded it in half and tucked it under my pillow so that one edge stuck out just enough to be visible. I cast a quick look around and realized with a pang that there was nothing else here I couldn't stand the thought of leaving behind. I left a lamp burning and hurried from my room to rejoin Baghra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/13/17: Day of departure for stag hunt changed from "tomorrow" to "day after tomorrow"  
> 1/29/17: Description of the Darkling's chambers, and hall outside, altered/added to match Bardugo's description of same in _Siege and Storm._  
>  3/27/18: Small tweaks to the Darkling convo


	17. The One Who Has Bad Ideas

“All right,” I began before I even had the passage door closed behind me. “What do I do?”

Baghra's relief was unmistakable. She thrust the pile of clothes at me again. “Change.”

She wasted no time. “You can slip out with the performers tonight. Head west. When you get to Os Kervo, find the Verloren. It’s a Kerch trader. Your passage has been paid.”

My fingers froze on the buttons of my kefta. “You want me to go West? Over the True Sea? Through the Fold?”

“I want you to disappear, girl. You’re strong enough to travel the Fold on your own. Keep hidden and quiet until you're deep enough in that no one will see your light. It should be easy work. Why do you think I’ve spent so much time training you?”

I gaped at her. Another thing I hadn’t bothered to question. The Darkling had told Baghra to leave me be. I’d thought he was defending me, but maybe he’d just wanted her to go easy on me so I'd stay weak.

I shucked off the gown, leaving it in a pool on the floor, and pulled a rough wool tunic over my head. I tore off the jewels and dumped them on top of the dress. “You knew what he intended all along. Why tell me now?” I asked her. “Why tonight? And more to the point, why tell me at all? Why not just kill me?”

“I'm no murderer, girl. I've killed, but only when I had no choice. We ran out of time tonight. I never truly believed he’d find Morozova’s herd. They’re elusive creatures, part of the oldest science, the making at the heart of the world. But I underestimated his men.”

“No,” I said, a strange mix of bitter, angry, and protective as I yanked on leather breeches. “You underestimated Mal. An otkazat'sya tracker, and my best friend.” Mal, who could hunt and track like no other. Mal, who could make rabbits out of rocks. Mal, who would have found the stag and delivered me, delivered us all into the Darkling’s power without ever knowing it.

“I bet he loved that,” Baghra said to herself as she passed me a thick brown traveling coat lined in fur, a heavy fur hat, and a broad belt. As I looped it around my waist, I found a money bag attached to it, along with a knife.

She led me out a small door and handed me a leather traveling pack that I slung across my shoulders. She pointed across the grounds to where the lights from the Grand Palace flickered in the distance. I could hear music playing. With a start, I realized that the party was still in full swing. It seemed like years had passed since I’d left the ballroom, but it couldn’t have been two hours.

“Go to the hedge maze and turn left. Some of the entertainers are already leaving. Find one of the departing wagons. They’re only searched on their way into the palace, so you should be safe.”

“Should be?”

Baghra ignored me. “When you get out of Os Alta, try to avoid the main roads.” She handed me a sealed envelope. “You’re a serf woodworker on your way to West Ravka to meet your new master. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I nodded, my heart already starting to race in my chest. “Why are you helping me?” I asked suddenly. “Why would you betray your own son?”

For a moment, she stood straight-backed and silent in the shadow of the Little Palace. Then she turned to me, and I took a startled step back, because I saw it, as clearly as if I had been standing at its edge: the abyss. Ceaseless, black, and yawning, the unending emptiness of a life lived too long.

“All those years ago,” she said softly. “Before he’d ever dreamed of a Second Army, before he gave up his name and became the Darkling, he was just a brilliant, talented boy. I gave him his ambition. I gave him his pride. When the time came, I should have been the one to stop him.” She smiled then, a small smile of such aching sadness that it was hard to look at. “You think I don’t love my son,” she said. “But I do. It is because I love him that I will not let him put himself beyond redemption.”

She glanced back at the Little Palace. “I will post a servant at your door tomorrow morning to claim that you are ill. I’ll try to buy you as much time as I can.”

I bit my cheek. “. . .Tonight. You should post the servant tonight. There's a small chance he might. . . come to my room.”

I expected Baghra to laugh at me again, but instead she just shook her head and said softly, “Foolish girl.” Her contempt would have been easier to bear.

“I told him no! But he already had Ivan check to make sure I was there. And you're obviously not planning on coming with me, which is a horrible idea by the way, so I left him a note. I told him I found out about the stag from a book. As far as he'll know, you had nothing to do with it.”

“I didn't ask for your help, girl,” she snapped.

“Yes, well, you got it anyway,” I said roughly. Suddenly I felt awkward and I turned my head to adjust the straps of my pack again. Looking out at the grounds, I thought of what lay ahead of me, and of what lay behind. So much change in such a short time, and now, the future was almost entirely unknown, even more than it had been when I'd been dragged from Kribirsk. I had to choke back a wave of panic. “Thank you, Baghra,” I gulped. “For everything. And good luck.” I laughed at the irony.

“Hmph,” she said. “Go now, girl. Be quick and take care.”

I turned my back on her, took one deep breath, and ran.

Endless days of training with Botkin meant I knew the grounds well. I was grateful for every sweaty hour as I jogged over lawns and between trees. Baghra sent thin coils of blackness to either side of me, cloaking me in darkness as I drew closer to the back of the Grand Palace. Were Marie and Nadia still dancing inside? Was Genya wondering where I’d gone? I shoved those thoughts from my mind. I was afraid to think too hard about what I was doing, about everything I was leaving behind.

A theatrical troupe was loading up a wagon with props and racks of costumes, their driver already gripping the reins and shouting at them to hurry things along. One of them climbed up beside him, and the others crowded into a little pony cart that departed with a jingle of bells. I bent the light way from myself and darted into the back of the wagon and wiggled my way between pieces of scenery, covering myself with a burlap drop cloth.

As we rumbled down the long gravel drive and through the palace gates, I held my breath. I was sure that, at any moment, someone would raise the alarm and we would be stopped. I would be pulled from the back of the wagon in disgrace. But then the wheels jounced forward and we were rattling over the cobblestone streets of Os Alta.

I tried to remember the route that I had taken with the Darkling when he had brought me through the city those many months ago, but I’d been so tired and overwhelmed that my memory was a useless blur of mansions and stalls and misty streets. I couldn’t see much from my hiding place, and I didn’t dare peek out. My net was almost useless as covered as I was in burlap. With my luck, someone would be passing at just that instant and catch sight of me.

My only hope was to put as much distance as possible between myself and the palace before my absence was noticed. I didn’t know how long Baghra would be able to stall, and I willed the wagon’s driver to move faster. When we crossed over the bridge and into the market town, I allowed myself a tiny sigh of relief.

Cold air crept through the cart’s wooden slats, and I was grateful for the thick coat Baghra had provided. I was weary and uncomfortable, but mostly I was just frightened. I was running from the most powerful man in Ravka, maybe in the world. The Grisha, the First Army, maybe even Mal and his trackers would be unleashed to find me. What chance did I have of making it to the Fold on my own? And if I did make it to West Ravka and onto the Verloren, then what? I would be alone in a strange land where I didn’t speak the language and I knew no one. Tears stung my eyes and I brushed them furiously away. I'd cried enough tonight. And if I started again now, I didn’t think I’d be able to stop.

We traveled through the night, past the stone streets of Os Alta and onto the wide dirt swath of the Vy. Dawn came and went. Occasionally, I dozed, but my fear and discomfort kept me awake for most of the ride. When the sun was high in the sky and I’d begun to sweat in my thick coat, the wagon rolled to a stop.

I risked taking a peek over the side of the cart. We were behind what looked like a tavern or an inn.

I stretched out my legs. Both of my feet had fallen asleep, and I winced as the blood rushed painfully back to my toes. I waited until the driver and the other members of the troupe had gone inside before I slid out from my hiding place.

I knew from years of trouble at Keramzin that I would attract more attention if I looked like I was sneaking around, so I stood up straight and walked briskly around the building, joining the bustle of carts and people on the village’s main street. It was too crowded to risk turning myself invisible, and I needed supplies.

It took a little eavesdropping, but I soon realized I was in Balakirev. It was a little town almost directly west of Os Alta. I’d gotten lucky; I was headed in the right direction.

During the ride, I’d counted the money Baghra had given me and tried to make a plan. I knew the fastest way to travel would be on horseback, but I also knew that a girl on her own with enough coin to buy a mount would attract attention. What I really needed to do was steal a horse—but I had no idea how to go about that, so I decided to just keep moving.

On the way out of town, I stopped at a market stall to buy a supply of hard cheese, bread, and dried meat.

“Hungry, are you?” asked the toothless old vendor, looking at me a little too closely as I shoved the food into my pack.

“My brother is,” I complained. “He eats like a pig,” I said, and pretended to wave at someone in the crowd. “Coming!” I shouted, and hurried off. All I could hope was that he would remember a girl traveling with her family or, better yet, that he wouldn’t remember me at all.

I spent that night sleeping in the tidy hayloft of a dairy farm just off the Vy. It was a long way from my beautiful bed at the Little Palace, but I was grateful for the shelter and for the sounds of animals around me. The soft lowing and rustle of the cows made me feel less alone as I curled on my side, using my pack and fur hat as a makeshift pillow.

What if Baghra was wrong, despite what I'd overheard? What if she'd twisted things the way she had accused the Darkling of doing? What if I'd misunderstood the conversation between Ivan and the Darkling? I worried as I lay there. I could go back to the Little Palace. I could say I'd gotten stir-crazy, or had too much to drink and had decided to wander off stupidly. Flimsy lies, but would he believe them? I could sleep in my own bed and take my lessons with Botkin and chat with Genya. _I could go home,_ I found myself thinking with a surprised pang. It was such a tempting thought. If I went back, the Darkling would forgive me, right?

Forgive me? What was wrong with me? He wanted to put a collar around my neck and make me a slave, and I was fretting over his forgiveness? Even if Baghra hadn't told me the whole truth, what I had heard the Darkling say to Ivan was more than enough to know he was lying to me, even as he asked me to trust him and told me how much I meant to him. _And asked to come to my room,_ a voice in my head added. I rolled onto my other side, furious with myself.

I knew that Baghra was right. In my heart I knew it, just as I knew that what I'd overheard in the war room had been exactly what it had sounded like. I remembered my own words to Mal: _He owns everyone._ I’d said it angrily, without thinking, because I’d wanted to hurt Mal’s pride. But I’d spoken the truth just as surely as Baghra had. I knew the Darkling was ruthless and dangerous, but I’d ignored all that, happy to believe I was the exception, happy to believe in my supposedly great destiny, and thrilled to think that I was the one he wanted.

 _Why don’t you just admit that you wanted to belong to him?_ said a voice in my head. _Why don’t you admit that part of you still does?_

I thrust the thought away. I tried to think of what the next day might bring and of what might be the safest route west. I tried to think of anything but strong, warm arms and the stormcloud color of his eyes.

 

* * * * * 

 

I let myself spend the next day and night traveling on the Vy, blending in with the heavy traffic that came and went on the way to Os Alta. But I knew that Baghra’s stalling would only buy me so much time, and the main roads were just too risky. From then on, I kept to the woods and fields, using hunters’ trails and farm tracks. It was slow going on foot. My legs ached, and I had blisters on the tops of my toes, but I made myself keep heading west, following the trajectory of the sun in the sky.

At night, I pulled my fur hat low over my ears and huddled shivering in my coat, listening to my belly grumble and making myself picture maps in my head, the maps I had worked on so long ago in the comfort of the Documents Tent. I pictured my own slow progress from Os Alta to Balakirev, skirting the little villages of Chernitsyn, Kerskii, and Polvost, and tried not to give up hope. I had a long way to go to the Fold, but all I could do was keep moving and hope that my luck held.

“You’re still alive,” I whispered to myself in the dark. “You’re still free.”

Occasionally, I encountered farmers or other travelers. I wore my gloves and kept my hand ready to grab my spare knife in case of trouble, but they took little notice of me. I was constantly hungry. I had always been a rotten hunter, so I subsisted on the meager supplies I’d bought back in Balakirev, on water from streams, and the occasional egg or apple stolen from a lonely farm.

I had no idea what the future held or what waited for me at the end of this grueling journey and yet, somehow, I wasn’t miserable. I’d been lonely my whole life, but I’d never been truly alone before, and it wasn’t nearly as scary as I’d imagined.

All the same, when I came upon a tiny whitewashed church one morning, I couldn’t resist slipping inside to hear the priest say Mass. When he finished, he offered prayers for the congregation: for a woman’s son who had been wounded in battle, for an infant who was ill with fever, and for the health of Alina Starkov. I flinched.

“Let the Saints protect the Sun Summoner,” intoned the priest, “she who was sent to deliver us from the evils of the Shadow Fold and make this nation whole again.”

I swallowed hard and ducked quickly out of the church. _They pray for you now,_ I thought bleakly. _But if the Darkling has his way, they’ ll come to hate you._ And maybe they should. Wasn’t I abandoning Ravka and all the people who believed in me? Only my power could destroy the Fold, and I was running away.

I shook my head. I couldn’t afford to think about any of that right now. I was a traitor and a fugitive. Once I was free of the Darkling, I would worry about Ravka’s future. I would find a way to help, somehow, some day.

I set a fast pace up the trail and into the woods, chased up the hillside by the ringing of church bells.

As I pictured the map in my head, I realized I would soon reach Ryevost, and that meant making a decision about the best way to reach the Shadow Fold. I could follow the river route or head into the Petrazoi, the stony mountains that loomed to the northwest. The river would be easier going, but it would mean passing through heavily populated areas. The mountains were a more direct route, but would be much tougher to traverse, and the terrain would make it the lengthier choice.

I debated with myself until I came to the crossroads at Shura, then chose the mountain route. I would have to stop in Ryevost before I headed into the foothills. It was the largest of the river cities, and I knew I was taking a risk, but I also knew I wouldn’t make it through the Petrazoi without more food and some kind of tent or bedroll.

After so many days on my own, the noise and bustle of Ryevost’s crowded streets and canals felt strange. I kept my head down and my hat pulled low, sure that I would find posters of my face on every lamppost and shop window. But the deeper I got into the city, the more I began to relax. Maybe word of my disappearance hadn’t spread as far or as fast as I’d expected.

My mouth watered at the smells of roasting lamb and fresh bread, and I treated myself to some and to fruit as I refreshed my supplies of hard cheese and dried meat. It would be some time before I got the chance for a fresh meal again.

I was tying my new bedroll to my traveling pack and trying to figure out how I was going to lug all the extra weight up the mountainside when I rounded a corner and nearly ran right into a group of soldiers.

My heart slammed into a gallop at the sight of their long olive coats and the rifles on their backs. I wanted to turn on my heel and sprint in the opposite direction, but I kept my head low and forced myself to keep walking at a normal pace. Once I’d passed them, I risked a glance back. They weren’t looking after me. In fact, they didn’t seem to be doing much of anything. They were talking and joking, one of them catcalling at a girl hanging out the wash.

I stepped into a side street and waited for my heartbeat to return to normal. What was going on? I’d escaped from the Little Palace well over a week ago. The alarm must have been raised long ago. I’d been sure the Darkling would send riders to every regiment in every town. Every member of the First and Second Armies should be looking for me by now.

As I headed out of Ryevost, I saw other soldiers. Some were on leave, others on duty, but none of them seemed to be looking for me. I didn’t know what to make of it. I wondered if I had Baghra to thank. Maybe she’d managed to convince the Darkling that I’d been kidnapped. Or maybe he just thought that I’d already made it farther west, or gone north or south instead. I decided not to press my luck and hurried to find my way out of town.

It took me longer than I’d expected, and I didn’t reach the western outskirts of the city until well past nightfall. The streets were dark and empty except for a few disreputable-looking taverns and an old drunk leaning up against a building, singing softly to himself. As I hurried past a noisy inn, the door flew open and a heavyset man toppled out into the street on a burst of light and music.

He grabbed hold of my coat and pulled me close. “Hello, pretty! Have you come to keep me warm?”

I tried to pull away.

“You’re strong for such a little thing.” I could smell the stink of stale beer on his hot breath.

“Let go of me,” I said in a low voice.

“Don’t be like that, lapushka,” he crooned. “We could have fun, you and me.”

“I said let go of me!” I pushed against him.

“Not for a bit yet,” he chuckled, pulling me into the shadows of the alley beside the tavern. “I want to show you something.”

I did as Botkin had instructed: I slammed the heel of my hand up into his nose and he howled, his hands releasing me to fly to his face, and I stomped down hard on the arch of his foot and then hooked my leg behind his ankle. His legs flew out from under him, and he hit the ground with a heavy thud.

At that moment, the side door to the tavern opened. A uniformed soldier emerged, a bottle of kvas in one hand and a scantily clad woman clutched in the other. With a wave of dread, I saw that he was dressed in the charcoal uniform of the Darkling’s guard. His bleary glance took in the scene: the man on the ground and me standing over him.

“What’s all this?” he slurred. The girl on his arm tittered.

“She broke my nose!” wailed the man on the ground. “I'm bleeding!”

The oprichnik looked at him as though amused, and then peered at me. I tried to turn away, but he grabbed my arm. “Did he hurt you? This one is an old lech.”

“No, I'm fine, but I have to go. My brother is waiting.” I tried to hurry away, but his grip tightened.

I turned just enough so he could see a reassuring smile on the corner of my lips, but it was enough.

He yanked me further around and his eyes met mine. Recognition spread across his face. My luck had run out. Even if no one else was looking for me, the Darkling’s guards were.

“You. . . .” he whispered.

I flashed light into his eyes to blind him and bolted down an alleyway and into a maze of narrow streets, my heart pounding in my chest. As soon as I cleared the last few dingy buildings of Ryevost, I hurtled off the road and into the underbrush. Branches stung my cheeks and forehead as I hurried deeper into the woods.

Behind me rose the sounds of pursuit: men shouting to one another, heavy footfalls through the wood. I wanted to run blindly, but I made myself stop and feel and listen.

They were to the east of me, just at the edge of my net, searching near the road. I couldn’t tell how many there were.

I bent light away from myself and quieted my breathing. I realized I could hear rushing water. There must be a stream nearby, a tributary of the river. If I could make it to the water I could hide my tracks, and so long as I stayed quiet enough, it would be impossible for them to find me in the darkness.

I made for the sounds of the stream, stopping periodically to correct my course. I struggled up a hill so steep I was almost crawling, pulling myself up by branches and exposed tree roots. I cursed silently when my foot dislodged a rock and it tumbled down the hill, taking more debris with it.

“There!” The voice called out from below me, and looking over my shoulder, I saw lights moving through the woods toward the base of the hill. I clawed my way higher, the earth slipping beneath my hands. When I got to the top, I dragged myself over the edge and looked down. I felt a surge of hope as I spotted moonlight glimmering off the surface of the stream.

I slid down the steep hill, leaning back to try to keep my balance, moving as fast as I dared. I heard shouts, and when I looked behind me, I saw the shapes of my pursuers silhouetted against the night sky. They had reached the top of the hill.

I forced myself to go agonizingly slow, but still, showers of pebbles went clattering down the hill to the stream below with every step. I thought about stopping, but the grade was too steep and I lost my footing and fell forward, scraping both hands as I hit the ground hard and, unable to stop my momentum, somersaulted down the hill and plunged into the freezing water.

For a moment, I thought my heart had stopped. The cold was like a hand, seizing my body in a relentless, icy grip as I tumbled through the water. Then my head broke the surface and I gasped, drawing in precious air before the current grabbed me and pulled me under again. I don’t know how far the water took me. All I thought about was my next breath and the growing numbness in my limbs.

Finally, when I thought I couldn’t fight my way to the surface again, the current drove me into a slow, silent pool. I grabbed hold of a rock and pulled myself into the shallows, dragging myself to my feet, my boots slipping on the smooth river stones as I stumbled under the weight of my sodden coat.

I don’t know how I did it, but I pushed my way into the woods and burrowed under a thick copse of bushes before I let myself collapse, shivering in the cold and still coughing river water.

It was easily the worst night of my life. My coat was soaked through. My feet were numb in my boots, and any sensation that started to return was only pain from my raw, blistering skin. I didn't have the energy or concentration to keep myself invisible, and my net was so tremulous that it wouldn't warn me if someone was coming any sooner than my ears would. I started at any sound, sure that I’d been discovered. My fur hat, my pack, spare clothes, my food and gloves, my water skin, my new bedroll and all my coin had been lost somewhere upstream, so my disastrous excursion into Ryevost had been for nothing. At least my Grisha steel knife was still safely sheathed at my thigh, and the spare was at my hip.

As dawn crested, I let myself summon a little sunlight to start drying my boots and clothes and to warm my clammy hands. I dozed and dreamed of Baghra holding my own knife to my throat, her laugh a dry rattle in my ear.

I awoke to the pounding of my heart and the sounds of movement in the woods around me. I had fallen asleep slumped against the base of a tree, hidden—I hoped—behind the copse of bushes. From where I sat, I could see no one, but I could hear voices in the distance. I stood quickly and bent the light away from myself. It was shoddy work – I was so tired and panicked that patches of myself flitted in and out of sight. I forced myself to calm down, and it helped, but not enough. I hesitated, frozen in place, unsure of what to do. If I moved, I risked giving away my position, and at least in the brush and trees, my clothing blended in when it came into sight. But if I stayed here, I risked being seen. The Darkling had obviously told them I could turn myself invisible. I cursed silently and ducked down to hide myself in the brush as best I could, ducking my head to hide the skin of my face behind my hair.

My heart began to race as the sounds grew closer. Through the leaves, I glimpsed a stocky, bearded soldier. He had a rifle in his hands, but I knew there was no chance that they would kill me. I was too valuable. It gave me an advantage, if I was willing to die.

 _They’re not going to take me._ The thought came to me with sure and sudden clarity. _I won’t go back._

I pulled out my knife, feeling the weight of the Grisha steel in my palm. I readied my other hand to loose a beam of light that would either kill or blind. Silently, I drew myself into a crouch and waited, listening. I was frightened, but I was surprised to find that some part of me felt eager.

I watched the bearded soldier through the leaves, circling closer until he was just feet from me. I could see a bead of sweat trickling down his neck, the morning light gleaming off his rifle barrel, and for a moment, I thought he might be looking right at me. A call sounded from deep in the woods. The soldier shouted back to them. “Nichyevo!” Nothing.

And then, to my amazement, he turned and walked away from me.

I listened as the sounds faded, the voices growing more distant, the footfalls more faint. Could I possibly be so lucky? Had they somehow mistaken an animal’s trail or another traveler’s for mine? Or was it some kind of trick? I waited, my body trembling, until all I could hear was the relative quiet of the wood, the calls of insects and birds, the rustle of the wind in the trees.

At last, I slid the blade back into its sheath on my thigh and took a deep, shuddering breath. I slowly rose out of my crouch. I reached for my still-damp coat lying in a crumpled heap on the ground and froze at the unmistakable sound of a soft step behind me.

I spun on my heel, throwing my net wide and a hand up, ready to summon, my heart in my throat, and saw a figure partially hidden by branches, only a few feet from me. I’d been so focused on the bearded soldier that I hadn’t realized there was someone behind me. In an instant, the knife was back in my hand as the figure emerged silently from the trees. I stared, sure I must be hallucinating.

Mal?

The shock I felt was quickly replaced by fear. I darted a look around and felt out along my web of light, searching for the men who must be with him. But there was no one. I glanced back to him and he shook his head minutely. I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his finger to his lips in warning, his gaze locked on mine. He waited a moment, listening, then gestured to me to follow and melted back into the woods. I hesitated only an instant before I grabbed my coat and hurried after him, doing my best to keep up. It was no easy task; he moved silently, slipping like a shadow through the branches, as if he could see paths invisible to others’ eyes. I was too exhausted to even think about trying to bend light away from both of us as we moved, but I kept my net as wide as I could.

He led me back to the stream, to a shallow bend where we were able to slog across. I groaned quietly as the icy water poured into my boots again. When we emerged on the other side, he circled back to cover our tracks.

I was bursting with questions, and my mind kept jumping from one thought to the next. How had Mal found me? Had he been tracking me with the other soldiers? What did it mean that he was helping me? I wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he was real. I wanted to throw my arms around him in gratitude. I wanted to punch him in the eye for the things he’d said to me that night at the Little Palace.

We walked for what must have been an hour, my feet chafing in my soaked boots and my wet clothes sticking to my skin, weariness and discomfort and unanswered questions wearing away at my temper until I finally lost patience.

“Mal,” I said.

He kept walking.

“Mal,” I barked, coming to a stop.

He halted, but didn't turn around.

“What are you doing?” I asked his back.

He sighed and turned around. “Rescuing you. What does it look like?”

“Who needed rescuing?” I asked testily. “Where's your unit?”

“How should I know? Probably still combing the riverbank. And you, unless you want to starve to death up here.”

I shook my head incredulously. “What are you _doing?”_

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw working. “I was halfway back to Tsibeya when we got the order to turn back around and hunt you. I've been leading them on false trails and covering your tracks, which hasn't been easy, especially after you got yourself found in Ryevost.”

My heart thudded.

“Ryevost wasn't my fault. I needed supplies. Some idiot tried to pull me into an alley on my way out, and one of the Darkling's guards walked in on it.”

He didn't say anything. It was infuriating. Abruptly, I shook my head and started walking again, brushing past him. “Go back, Mal.”

He grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Are you out of your mind? What are you even doing, Alina?”

My face hardened. “None of your business. Now go back. Make up a story, tell them you were following a trail, I don't know. I don't care. Just. . .go back.”

“I thought you weren't the one who didn't care.”

I jerked my arm away from him just as I felt blood drain from my face. “It doesn't matter. I have a lot of ground to cover, and I'll be running for the rest of my life. You were happy in the army, you made a life for yourself. I was just. . .tagging along, like I always did. So go back. Be a tracker, make friends, fall in love and get married and have babies. You're not coming with me.” I turned around and tromped on as quietly as I could which, to my annoyance, was about as silent as an entire herd of elk.

I felt him stay where he was for a long moment. Then he began following silently behind.

“Mal,” I snapped.

“Storm off all you want, Alina. We both know you can't lose me out here,” he said calmly.

“Why?” I whipped around to face him. “You acted like you hated me last time we talked, like I was disgusting, and now you're going to, what, desert? Why?”

“I don't hate you Alina,” he said, almost looking appalled by the idea. “I never hated you. Saints, I. . . .” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Just tell me, why did you leave?”

I realized that Mal had no idea why I’d fled the Little Palace, why the Darkling was searching for me. The last time I’d seen him, I’d essentially ordered him out of my sight, but still he’d left everything behind and come for me, and then refused to leave when I told him to. He deserved an explanation, but I had no idea where to begin. I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. “Not now, ok?”

“. . .Fine. But we put off the issue of my coming with you until you tell me.”

I sighed again and closed my eyes, sagging on my feet. Mal wasn't nearly as stubborn as I was, but once in a while, when he got set on something, he would refuse to let it go. He had that look, now. “Alright,” I agreed wearily.

He nodded. “Then let's move. We should keep quiet, though, I don't want to risk being overheard.”

I laughed harshly. “We won't be. I'm too tired right now to do anything really impressive, but I've gotten stronger, Mal. My net reaches. . .far.”

“How far is far?”

“I never measured it, but did you see that big clearing next to the lake at the Little Palace?”

“Sure.”

“If I stood in the middle and concentrated, it reached over the whole thing, and the lake, and just into the tree line. I can sort of. . .see things with it, now, too. Make out shapes. I could walk through this forest with my eyes closed, if I needed to. Not very fast,” I joked weakly, “but still. And it's nowhere near that big right now, but. . .its been a long week.”

He didn't reply. He just kept walking.

“Mal?” I asked after a long minute.

“I'm glad, Alina. I'm glad you got stronger.”

“Then why don't you sound glad?”

“We need to keep quiet, ok? I need to concentrate. Ask me later. When we stop.”

Which meant 'ask me never.'

_We. . . caught up a little. It didn't go well._

_I wish I could say I was surprised._

The Darkling had told me that Mal couldn't understand what I was becoming. He said the distance between us would grow the more powerful I got. His words ran through my head, and I was angry about it. The Darkling didn't know Mal. He didn't know what he was talking about, and he was wrong, and even if none of those things had been true, he was still a liar.

 _And he's observant and smart and hundreds of years old and has been watching Grisha and otkazat'sya that whole time. And he knows what it's like to be different. Like I am,_ a voice in my mind said. I shoved it away angrily with a growl.

Mal looked over his shoulder at me. I shook my head at him.

The Darkling knew nothing about Mal. And he knew nothing about me.

 

* * * * * 

 

We walked for hours in complete silence. Periodically, Mal would gesture for me to stop, and I would wait as he disappeared into the underbrush to hide our tracks. Sometime in the afternoon, we began climbing a rocky path. I wasn’t sure where the stream had spit me out, but I felt fairly certain that he must be leading me into the Petrazoi.

Each step was agony. My boots were still wet, and fresh blisters formed on my heels and toes and the balls of my feet. My miserable night in the woods had left me with a pounding headache, and I was dizzy from lack of food, but I wasn’t about to complain. I kept quiet as he led me up the mountain and then off the trail, scrabbling over rocks until my legs were shaking with fatigue and my throat burned with thirst. When Mal finally stopped, we were high up the mountain, hidden from view by an enormous outcropping of rock and a few scraggly pines.

“Here,” he said, dropping his pack. He slid sure-footed back down the mountain, and I knew he was going to try to cover the traces of my clumsy progress over the rocks.

Gratefully, I sank to the ground and closed my eyes. My feet were throbbing, but I was worried that if I took my boots off, I would never get them back on again. My head drooped, but I couldn’t let myself sleep. Not yet. I had a thousand questions, but only one that couldn’t wait until morning.

Dusk was falling by the time Mal returned, moving silently over the terrain. He sat down across from me and pulled a canteen from his pack. After taking a swig, he swiped his hand over his mouth and passed the water to me. I drank deeply.

“Slow down,” he said. “That has to last us through tomorrow.”

I groaned. “We were just at a river,” I said and handed the canteen back to him.

He ignored that. “We can’t risk a fire tonight,” he said, gazing out into the gathering dark. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I nodded. For all I had worked at it, I had yet to be able to make heat without light. My coat had dried during our trek up the mountain, though the sleeves were still a little damp. I felt rumpled, dirty, and cold. Mostly, I was just reeling over the impossibility that was sitting in front of me. And there was one thing I had to know. “Mal.” I waited for him to look at me. “Did you find the herd? The stag?”

He tapped his hand on his knee. “Why is it so important?”

“I'm exhausted, ok?” I answered wearily. “And it's a long story, and I hate it, and honestly I'd be happy to never talk about it ever. Ask me tomorrow. But I need to know, does he have the stag?”

“No.”

I closed my eyes in relief.

I gave myself a moment to savor that small reprieve. “They’re close, though?”

He nodded. “But. . . .”

“But?”

Mal hesitated. In the remnants of the afternoon light, I saw a ghost of the cocky smile I knew so well playing on his lips. “I don’t think they’ll find it without me.”

“Because you’re just that good?” I asked drily.

“No,” he said, serious again. “Maybe. Don’t get me wrong. They’re good trackers, the best in the First Army, but. . .you have to have a feel for tracking the herd. They aren’t ordinary animals.”

 _And you’re not an ordinary tracker,_ I thought but didn’t say. I watched him, thinking of what the Darkling had once said about not understanding our own gifts. Could there be more to Mal’s talent than just luck or practice? He’d certainly never suffered from a lack of confidence, but I didn’t think this was about conceit.

“I hope you’re right,” I murmured finally.

“Now you answer my question,” he said, and there was a harsh edge to his voice. “Why did you run?”

“That's still none of your business,” I answered, flinty.

“Fine, then at least tell me this isn't some kind of lovers’ quarrel where you turn around and go running back to him.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you. . .are you serious right now? Are you out of your mind? You are unbelievable! You know that?”

“I've heard worse, usually from you.”

I sputtered. “I- You-” I growled, too furious to answer.

He waited.

“I'm not going back, no. I thought that would have been obvious with the whole 'on the run for the rest of my life' thing. And we weren't actually. . .we never. . . .” I trailed off, wildly uncomfortable. “We got. . .sort of close once, before I left.” I put a hand to the back of my neck self-consciously. “But I didn't want to. . .ugh, why are we even talking about this!”

I couldn't tell if he looked more relieved, sick, or angry. “So why are you running? And I'm helping you- yes, _I'm helping you,”_ he said firmly when I opened my mouth to shout at him, “so don't tell me it's not my business. It might help to know what we're up against.”

I sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you I was trying to save the world?”

He didn't answer for a moment. “Yes, actually.”

I blinked at him. “Well that was easy.”

“You always did like to argue.”

“I do not!”

A small grin spread across his face, and for a moment, he was the old Mal, my best friend.

“. . .There's nothing I can say to make you go back, is there?” I asked seriously. He just stared at me, face calm but set. “This is probably the worst idea you have ever had. You're giving up everything.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then turned his face away. He cleared his throat. “I don't know. Remember the time I wanted to prank the senior officers in Poliznaya during basic?”

I found myself smiling, just a little. “Ok, fine. But if I'm argumentative, then you're the one who has bad ideas.”

“Obviously. And the smart one, remember.”

I rolled my eyes.

Mal was quiet for a long time. Then, as if he’d reached some kind of decision, he said, “All right.” He stood up, stretched, and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Then he drew a thick wool blanket from his pack and tossed it to me.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll take the first watch.” He turned his back on me, looking out at the moon rising high over the valley we had left behind.

I curled up on the hard ground, pulling the blanket tight around me for warmth. Despite my discomfort, my eyelids felt heavy and I could feel exhaustion dragging me under.

“Mal,” I said quietly into the night.

“What?”

“I still think you're an idiot for doing this, but. . .thank you. For finding me.” I was too tired to care how vulnerable I sounded.

I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming, but somewhere in the dark, I would have sworn I heard him whisper, “Always.”

I let sleep take me.


	18. Butter Week

Mal took both watches and let me sleep the night through. I was too grateful to berate him for it. In the morning, he handed me a strip of dried meat and said simply, “Talk.”

“. . .Nice weather this morning?” I offered.

He stared me down.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I opted for the simplest part. “The Darkling plans to use the Shadow Fold as a weapon.”

Mal didn’t even blink. “How?”

“By expanding it. He wants to push it through Ravka and into Fjerda and Shu Han and anywhere else he meets resistance, until the whole continent is under one banner: his. But he can’t do it without me to hold the volcra back while he's in the Fold. How much do you know about Morozova’s stag?”

“Not much. Just that it’s valuable.” He looked out over the valley. “And that it was intended for you. We were supposed to locate the herd and capture or corner the stag, but not harm it.”

I laughed bitterly. “Yes, he intended it for me.” I explained how amplifiers worked, how Ivan had to slay the Sherborn bear, and Marie had to kill the northern seal. “A Grisha has to earn an amplifier,” I finished. “But not Morozova's stag.”

“Let’s walk,” Mal said abruptly. “You can tell me the rest while we’re moving. I want to get us deeper into the mountains.”

He shoved the blanket into his pack and did his best to hide any signs that we’d ever made camp there. Then he led us up a steep and rocky trail. His bow was tied to his pack, but he kept his rifle at the ready.

My feet protested every step, but I followed and did my best to tell the rest of the story. I recounted everything that Baghra had told me about the origins of the Fold, about the collar that the Darkling intended to fashion so that he could control me, and finally about the ship waiting in Os Kervo.

When I finished, Mal said, “You shouldn’t have listened to Baghra.”

“. . .Excuse me? Are you out of your mind? How can you say that?” I demanded.

He turned suddenly, and I almost ran right into him. “What do you think will happen if you make it to the Fold? If you make it onto that ship? Do you think his power stops at the shore of the True Sea?”

“No, but—”

“It’s just a question of time before he finds you and slaps that collar around your neck.”

“So I should have stayed there and let him do it? Say 'please and thank you, happy to be enslaved, Mr. Darkling!' I can stay ahead of him if I keep moving and keep my head down. If I stop using my powers, I won't even look the same.”

“If you make yourself sick, you mean.”

“It's worth it if I can keep away from him.”

“You can't, Alina. You can't, and you know it.”

He turned and strode up the trail, leaving me standing, dazed, behind him. I made my legs move and kept pace, but refused to hurry to catch up.

Maybe Baghra’s plan was a weak one, but what choice had she had? I remembered her fierce grip, the fear in her feverish eyes. She’d never expected the Darkling would really locate Morozova’s herd. The night of the winter fete, she’d been genuinely panicked, but she’d tried to help me. If she’d been as ruthless as her son, she could have made things much easier on herself. _And maybe we all would have been better off,_ I thought.

We walked in silence for a long time, moving up the mountain in slow switchbacks. In some spots, the trail was so narrow that I could do little more than cling to the mountainside, take tiny, shuffling steps, and hope the Saints were kind. Around noon, we descended the first slope and started up the second, which was, to my misery, even steeper and taller than the first.

I stared at the trail in front of me, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to shake my sense of hopelessness. The more I thought about it, the more I worried that Mal might be right. I couldn’t lose the feeling that I’d doomed both of us, and maybe Baghra, too. If the Darkling was as clever as she said, how long would my note work? He needed me alive, and Baghra was his mother, but what would he do to Mal? Maybe I would be a slave, a monster, but Mal was guilty of desertion, maybe of treason, and even if the Darkling didn't hurt him, the penalty for that was death.

By dusk, we’d climbed high enough that the few scraggling trees had all but disappeared and winter frost still lay on the ground in places. We ate a meager dinner of hard cheese and stringy dried beef. Mal still didn’t think it was safe to build a fire, so we huddled beneath the blanket in silence, shivering against the howling wind, our shoulders barely touching.

I had almost dozed off when Mal suddenly said, “I’m taking us north tomorrow.”

My eyes flew open. “North?”

“To Tsibeya.”

“You want to go after the stag?” I asked in disbelief.

“I know I can find it.”

“That's not the point! The Darkling may have found it already, and for all we know, he's waiting for me there!”

“No,” he said, and I felt him shake his head. “It’s still out there. I can feel it.”

His words reminded me eerily of what the Darkling had said on the path to Baghra’s cottage. _The stag was meant for you, Alina. I can feel it._

“And what if he finds us first?” I asked harshly.

“You can’t spend the rest of your life running, Alina. You said the stag could make you powerful. Powerful enough to fight him?”

“I don't know,” I stammered. “Maybe.”

“Then we have to do it.”

“No, we don't! Baghra told me she's over nine hundred years old, Mal. And she's known him his whole life. Even if I have more power than him with the stag, he has hundreds of years of experience and the entire Second Army. Baghra trained me, she knows exactly what I'm capable of. If fighting him was the smart thing, that's what she would have told me to do. But she didn't. She told me to run, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.”

“He won't stop, Alina. He'll hunt you until one of you is dead. And since I know that's not enough for you, let's say you manage to stay away from him. Then what? If he's basically immortal, all he has to do is wait for another Sun Summoner. You think that person's going to be able to stop him? If they even _want_ to? Who else is there but you?”

“If he catches us, he’ll kill you.”

“I know.”

“Oh, for- All Saints, Mal! Why did you come after me? What were you even thinking?”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his short hair. “I didn’t think. I got orders to follow you, so I did. I followed, and then I led them away from you.”

_“Why?”_

He didn't answer.

“You're a deserter now.”

“Yes.”

“Because you followed me.”

“Yes.”

My throat ached with unshed tears, but I managed to keep my voice from shaking. “Idiot," I accused. "Idiot! You should have gone back.” My voice was angry and almost bitter.

“I’m not afraid to die, Alina,” he said in that cold, steady voice that seemed so alien to me. “But I’d like to give us a fighting chance. We have to go after the stag.”

I thought about what he said for a long, long while. At last, with an unsteady feeling, I whispered, “Okay.”

All I got back was a snore. Mal was already asleep.

 

* * * * *

 

He kept a brutal pace over the next few days but my pride, and maybe my fear, wouldn’t let me ask him to slow down. We saw an occasional goat skittering down the slopes above us and spent one night camped by a brilliant blue mountain lake, but those were rare breaks in the monotony of leaden rock and sullen sky.

Mal’s grim silences didn’t help. I wanted to know how he’d ended up tracking the stag for the Darkling and what his life had been like for the last six months, but my questions were met with terse one-word replies, and sometimes he just ignored me completely. Sometimes I wanted to throw a rock at him or tell him that being left alone to starve would be preferable to his brooding. When I was feeling particularly tired or hungry, I’d glare resentfully at his back and think about giving him a good whack over the head to get his attention. Most of the time, I just worried. I worried that Mal regretted his decision to come after me, or if he didn't, then he would soon. I worried about the impossibility of finding the stag in the vastness of Tsibeya. But more than anything, I worried about what the Darkling, the man who was not known for his mercy, might do to Mal if we were captured.

When we finally began the northwest descent out of the Petrazoi, I was thrilled to leave the barren mountains and their cold winds behind. My heart lifted as we descended below the tree line and into a welcoming wood. After days of scrabbling over hard ground, it was a pleasure to walk on soft beds of pine needles, to hear the rustle of animals in the underbrush and breathe air dense with the smell of sap.

We camped by a burbling creek, and when Mal began gathering twigs for a fire, I nearly broke out in song. I summoned a tiny, concentrated shaft of light to start the flames as I had a few times when we'd been alone by a fire, and Mal watched with a strange look on his face. He disappeared into the woods and brought back a rabbit that we cleaned and roasted for dinner. With a bemused expression, he watched as I gobbled down my portion and then sighed, still hungry.

“You’d be a lot easier to feed if you hadn’t developed such an appetite,” he groused, finishing his food and stretching out on his back, his head pillowed on his arm.

“You're just jealous that I'm prettier than you now.”

I was warm for the first time since I’d left the Little Palace, and nothing could spoil that bliss. Not even Mal’s snores.

 

* * * * * 

 

We needed to restock our supplies before we headed farther north into Tsibeya, but it took us another day and a half to find a hunting trail that led us to one of the villages that lay on the northwest side of the Petrazoi. The closer we got to civilization, the more nervous we became. Mal would disappear for long stretches, scouting ahead, keeping us moving parallel to the town’s main road. Early in the afternoon, he appeared wearing an ugly brown coat and a brown squirrel hat.

“Where did you find those?” I asked.

“I grabbed them from an unlocked house,” he said guiltily. “But I left a few coins. It’s eerie, though—the houses are all empty. I didn’t see anyone on the road either.”

“Maybe it’s Sunday,” I said. I had lost track of the days since I’d left the Little Palace. “They could all be at church.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. But he looked troubled as he buried his old army coat and hat beside a tree.

We were a half mile out from the village when we heard the drums. They got louder as we crept closer to the road, and soon we heard bells and fiddles, clapping and cheering. Mal climbed a tree to get a better view, and when he came down, some of the worry had gone from his face.

“There are people everywhere. There must be hundreds walking the road, and I can see the dom cart.”

“It’s butter week!” I exclaimed.

In the week before the spring fast, every nobleman was expected to ride out among his people in a _dom_ cart, a cart laden with sweets and cheeses and baked breads. The parade would pass from the village church all the way back to the noble’s estate, where the public rooms would be thrown open to peasants and serfs, who were fed on tea and blini. The local girls wore red sarafan and flowers in their hair to celebrate the coming of spring.

Butter week had been the best time at the orphanage, when classes were cut short so that we could clean the house and help with the baking. Duke Keramsov had always timed his return from Os Alta to coincide with it. We would all ride out in the _dom_ cart, and he would stop at every farm to drink kvas and pass out cakes and candies. Sitting beside the Duke, waving to the cheering villagers, we’d felt almost like nobility ourselves.

“Let's go look!” I said with more enthusiasm than I'd shown since the night of the fete.

He frowned, and I knew his caution was wrestling with some of our happiest memories from Keramzin. Then a little smile appeared on his lips. “All right. There are certainly enough people for us to blend in.”

We joined the crowds parading down the road, slipping in with the fiddlers and drummers, the little girls clutching branches tied with bright ribbons. As we passed through the village’s main street, shopkeepers stood in their doorways ringing bells and clapping their hands with the musicians. Mal stopped to buy furs and stock up on supplies, but when I saw him shove a wedge of hard cheese into his pack, I made a face and stuck out my tongue. If I never saw another piece of hard cheese again, it would be too soon.

Before Mal could tell me not to, I darted into the crowd, snaking between people trailing behind the dom cart where a red-cheeked man sat with a bottle of kvas in one chubby hand as he swayed from side to side, singing and tossing bread to the peasants crowding around the cart. I reached out and snatched a warm golden roll.

“For you, pretty girl!” the man shouted, practically toppling over.

The sweet roll smelled divine, and I thanked him, prancing my way back to Mal and feeling quite pleased with myself.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me down a muddy walkway between two houses. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I made a face. “Nobody knows who I am here. He just thought I was another peasant girl. A _pretty_ peasant girl, but still.” I grinned at him.

“We can’t take risks like that.”

“Oh. So then you probably don't want anything to do with my ill-gotten gains. I should just...throw it out.” I said, dangling it over the dirty street as if ready to drop it.

He hesitated. “I didn’t say that.”

“You know I'm getting awfully mixed messages from you right now. I was going to give you a bite, but since you seem so affronted, I’ll just have to eat the whole thing myself to spare your feelings, taxing though it will be.”

Mal grabbed for the roll, but I danced out of reach, dodging left and right, away from his hands, a grin on my face.

“You are a brat,” he growled and took another swipe.

“Ah, but I’m a brat with my very own sweet roll.”

I felt someone slip into the alley behind us and stood up straight, putting a hand over the knife at my belt. Mal stopped instantly at the look on my face, but before either of us could even turn around, one of the men was holding a dirty-looking knife to his throat, and the other had clapped his filthy hand over my mouth.

“Quiet now,” rasped the man with the knife. “Or I’ll open both your throats.” He had greasy hair and a comically long face.

I eyed the blade at Mal’s neck and nodded slightly. The other man’s hand slid away from my mouth, but he kept a firm grip on my arm.

“Coin,” said Longface.

“You’re robbing us?” I burst out.

“That’s right,” hissed the man holding me, giving me a shake.

I couldn’t help it. I was so relieved and surprised that we weren’t being captured that a laugh bubbled out of me.

The thieves and Mal both looked at me like I was crazy.

“They're robbing us,” I said to Mal as though it were hilarious.

“A bit simple, is she?” asked the man holding me.

“Yeah,” Mal said, glaring at me with eyes that clearly said shut up. “A bit.”

“Money,” said Longface. “Now.”

Mal reached carefully into his coat and pulled out his money bag, handing it over to Longface, who grunted and frowned at its light weight.

“That it? What’s in the pack?”

“Not much. Some furs and food,” Mal replied.

“Show me.”

My free hand twitched.

Slowly, Mal unshouldered his pack and opened the top, giving the thieves a view of the contents. His rifle, wrapped in a wool blanket, was clearly visible at the top.

“Ah,” said Longface. “Now, that’s a nice rifle. Isn’t it, Lev?”

The man holding me kept one thick hand tight around my wrist and fished out the rifle with the other. “Real nice,” he grunted. “And the pack looks like military issue.” My heart dropped.

“So?” asked Longface.

“So Rikov says a soldier from the outpost at Chernast has gone missing. Word is he went south and never came back. Could be we caught ourselves a deserter.”

Longface studied Mal speculatively, and I knew he was already thinking of the reward that awaited him. He had no idea.

“What do you say, boy? You wouldn’t be on the run, would you?”

“The pack belongs to my brother,” Mal said easily.

“Maybe. And maybe we’ll let the captain at Chernast take a look at it and take a look at you.”

Mal shrugged. “Good. I’d be happy to let him know you tried to rob us.”

Lev didn’t seem to like that idea. “Let’s just take the money and go.”

“Naw,” said Longface, still squinting at Mal. “He’s gone deserter or he took that off some other grunt. Either way, the captain’ll pay good money to hear about it.”

“What about her?” Lev gave me another shake.

“She can’t be up to anything good if she’s traveling with this lot. Could be she’s done a runner, too. And if not, she’ll be good for a bit of fun. Won’t you, sweet?”

“Don’t touch her,” spat Mal, stepping forward.

With one swift movement, Longface brought the handle of his knife down hard on Mal’s head. Mal stumbled, one knee buckling, blood pouring from his temple.

“No!” I shouted. The man holding me clamped his hand back around my mouth, releasing my arm. That was all I needed. I lunged forward and flicked my wrist, feeling a mirror slide between my fingers, but he caught me. “Oh no you don't. Spirited little thing, you are.”

“Let's hope she's not a deserter too, then, eh?” Longface loomed over Mal, the knife in his hand. “Or maybe we just won't turn her in right away. And could be the captain’ll pay for him whether he’s alive or dead.”

He bent down over Mal. I slammed a foot into Lev's groin, and when Longface turned at his partner's cry, I twisted the mirror in my hand and bright light shot into his eyes. He stalled, throwing his hand up to block the glare. Mal leapt to his feet and grabbed hold of Longface, throwing him hard against the wall.

Lev recovered enough to raise Mal’s rifle, but I whirled on him, aiming a kick to the side of his knee. As he bent double, I put my hands on the back of his head and brought my knee up hard. There was a disgusting crunch. I swept my foot around to knock his feet out from under him and stepped backward as he fell to the ground clutching his nose, blood leaking between his fingers.

Oh, if only Botkin could see me now.

“Come on!” Mal said, distracting me from my jubilation. I turned and saw Longface lying unconscious in the dirt.

Mal snatched up his pack and ran toward the opposite end of the alley, away from the noise of the parade. Lev was moaning, but he still had a grip on the rifle. Rather than waste time and risk having it go off accidentally, I gave him a good hard kick in the gut and sprinted after Mal.

We darted past empty shops and houses and back across the muddy main road, then plunged into the woods and the safety of the trees. Mal set a furious pace, leading us through a little creek and then over a ridge, on and on for what felt like miles. Finally he slowed, then stopped, bending double, hands on knees, his breath coming in gasps.

I collapsed to the ground, my heart thudding against my ribs, and flopped onto my back. I lay there with the blood rushing in my ears, drinking in the afternoon light that slanted through the tops of the trees and trying to catch my breath. When I felt like I could talk, I pushed myself up on my elbows and said, “Are you okay?”

Gingerly, Mal touched the wound on his head. It had stopped bleeding, but he winced. “Fine.”

“Not the first time we wished I was a Corporalnik,” I said wryly. “Do you think they’ll say anything?”

“Of course. They’ll see if they can get some coin for the information.”

“Saints,” I swore.

“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Then, to my surprise, he cracked a smile. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Grisha training,” I answered with a grin. “Ancient secrets of the groin kick.”

“Whatever works.”

I laughed. “That’s what Botkin always says. ‘Not showy, just to make pain,’” I said, imitating the mercenary’s heavy accent.

“Smart guy.”

“The Darkling didn't think Grisha should rely on their powers for defense.”

I was instantly sorry I’d said it - Mal’s smile disappeared.

“Another smart guy,” he said coldly, staring out into the wood. After a minute, he said, “He’ll know that you didn’t head straight to the Fold. He’ll know we’re hunting the stag.” He sat down heavily beside me, his face grim. We’d had very few advantages in this fight, and now we’d lost one of them.

“So maybe we shouldn't,” I said slowly. “Maybe we leave and come back some day, when things have settled down. You said they couldn't find it without you. How confident are you about that?”

He thought for a long minute. “Not confident enough to want to give him months or years to look while we hide. I shouldn’t have taken us into town,” he finished bleakly.

“We couldn’t know someone was going to try to rob us. I kind of assumed I'd used up all my spare bad luck getting found in Ryevost.”

“It was a stupid risk. I should know better.” He picked up a twig from the forest floor and snapped it into small pieces.

“You're not the one on the run, Mal. I've been around him, I'm the one who should know better.

" . . .I still have the roll,” I offered lamely, pulling the squashed, lint-covered lump from my pocket. It had been baked into the shape of a bird to celebrate the spring flocks, but now it looked more like a rolled-up sock.

Mal dropped his head, covering it with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders began to shake, and for a horrible moment, I thought he might be crying, but then I realized he was laughing silently. His whole body rocked, his breath coming in hitches, tears starting to leak from his eyes. “That better be one hell of a roll,” he gasped.

I stared at him for a second, afraid he might have gone completely mad, and then I started laughing, too. I covered my mouth to stop the sound, which only made me laugh harder. It was as if all the tension and the fear of the last few days was now coming out as uncontrollable hysterics.

Mal put a finger to his lips in an exaggerated “Shhhh!” and I collapsed in a fresh wave of giggles.

“I think you broke that guy’s nose,” he snorted.

“I know! And it's the second one since I left! That’s not nice. I’m not nice.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, and then we were laughing again.

“Do you remember when that farmer’s son broke your nose at Keramzin?” I gasped between fits. “And you didn’t tell anyone, and you bled all over Ana Kuya’s favorite tablecloth?”

“You are making that up.”

“I am not! How can you not remember? She was on the hunt for the person who did it for a week!”

“Yes you are! You break noses, and you lie!”

We laughed until we couldn’t breathe, until our sides ached and our heads spun with it. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed like that.

We did actually eat the roll. It was dusted with sugar and tasted just like the sweet rolls we’d eaten as children. When we finished, Mal said, “That _was_ a really good roll,” and we burst into another fit of laughter.

Eventually, he sighed and stood, offering a hand to help me up.

We walked until dusk and then made camp by the ruins of a cottage. Given our close call, he didn’t think we should risk a fire that night, so we ate from the supplies we’d picked up in the village. As we chewed on dried beef and that miserable hard cheese, he asked about Botkin and the other teachers at the Little Palace. I didn’t realize how much I’d been longing to share my stories with him until I started talking. He didn’t laugh as easily as he once had. But when he did, some of that grim coolness lifted from him and he seemed a bit more like the Mal I used to know. It gave me hope that he might not be lost forever.

When it was time to turn in, Mal walked the perimeter of the camp, making sure we were safe, while I repacked the food. There was plenty of room in the pack now that we’d lost Mal’s rifle and wool blanket. I kicked myself for not picking the blanket up as we fled. I was just grateful that he still had his bow.

I bunched the squirrel-fur hat up under my head and left the pack for Mal to use as a pillow. Then I pulled my coat close around me and huddled beneath the new furs. I was nodding off when I heard Mal return and settle himself beside me, his back pressed comfortably against mine. I sighed warmly.

As I drifted into sleep, I felt like I could still taste the sugar from that sweet roll on my tongue, feel the pleasure of laughter gusting through me. We’d been robbed. We’d almost been killed. We were being hunted by the most powerful man in Ravka, and had just tipped him off to our location. But we were friends again, and sleep came more easily than it had in a long time.

At some point during the night, I woke to Mal’s snoring. I jabbed him in the back with my elbow. He rolled onto his side, muttered something in his sleep, and threw his arm over me. A minute later he started snoring again, but this time I didn’t wake him. Before I drifted off, I put my arm over his and his hand in mine.


	19. What Are Friends For?

We still saw shoots of new grasses and even a few wildflowers, but there were fewer signs of spring as we headed north to Tsibeya and into the wild reaches where Mal believed we would find the stag. The dense pines gave way to sparse birchwood forests and then to long stretches of grazing land.

Though Mal regretted our trip into the village, he soon had to admit that it had been a necessity. The nights grew colder as we traveled north, and cookfires weren’t an option as we drew closer to the outpost at Chernast. We also didn’t want to waste time hunting or trapping food every day, so we relied on our supplies and nervously watched them dwindle.

Something between us seemed to have thawed, and instead of the stony silence of the Petrazoi, we talked as we walked. He seemed curious to hear about life in the Little Palace, the strange ways of the court, and even Grisha theory. It warmed me through to share it with him.

He wasn’t at all shocked to hear of the contempt with which most Grisha regarded the King. Apparently, the trackers had been grumbling more and more loudly amongst themselves about the King’s incompetence.

“The Fjerdans have a breech-loading rifle that can fire twenty-eight rounds per minute. Our soldiers should have them, too. If the King could be bothered to take an interest in the First Army, we wouldn’t be so dependent on the Grisha. But it’ll never happen,” he told me. Then he muttered, “We all know who’s running the country.”

I said nothing. I tried to avoid talking about the Darkling as much as possible.

When I asked about the time Mal had spent tracking the stag, he always seemed to find a way to bring the conversation back to me. I didn’t press him. I knew that Mal’s unit had crossed the border into Fjerda. I suspected that they’d had to fight their way out and that was where Mal had acquired the scar on his jaw, but he refused to say more.

As we were walking through a band of desiccated willows, the frost crunching beneath our boots, Mal pointed out a sparrowhawk nest, and I found myself wishing that we could just keep walking forever. As much as I longed for a hot meal and a warm bed, I was afraid of what the end of our journey might bring. What if we found the stag, and I claimed the antlers? How might an amplifier that powerful change me? Would it be enough to free us from the Darkling? If only we could stay this way, walking side by side, sleeping huddled beneath the stars. If only we could forget about the stag and just keep moving as Baghra had intended.

They were foolish thoughts, I knew. Tsibeya was an inhospitable place, a wild and empty world of bitter winters and grueling summers. And we weren’t strange and ancient creatures who roamed the earth at twilight. We were just Mal and Alina, and we could not stay ahead of our pursuers forever.

A dark thought that had flitted through my head for days now finally settled. I sighed, knowing that I had put off talking to Mal about it for too long. It was irresponsible, and given how much we’d both risked, I couldn’t let it continue.

That night, Mal was almost asleep, his breathing deep and even, before I worked up the courage to speak.

“Mal,” I began. Instantly, he came awake, tension flooding through his body, as he sat up and reached for his knife. “No, no,” I said, laying a hand on his arm. “Everything’s all right. But I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” he grumbled, flopping down and throwing his arm back over me. We had continued to sleep curled against one another after that first night, though neither of us had so much as commented on it.

I sighed. I wanted to just lie there in the dark, listening to the rustle of the wind in the grass, feeling the weight of his arm on me, warm in this feeling of safety, however illusory. But I knew I couldn’t. “I need you to do something for me.”

He snorted. “You mean other than deserting the army, scaling mountains, and freezing my ass off on the cold ground every night?”

“Yes,” I said seriously.

“Hmmph,” he grumbled noncommittally, his breath already returning to the deep, even rhythm of sleep.

“Mal,” I said clearly, “if this goes wrong, if we don’t make it, if they catch up to us before we find the stag. . .you can’t let him take me.”

He went perfectly still.

He was quiet for so long that I began to think he’d fallen back asleep.

Then he said, “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I know. And I'm asking anyway.”

He sat up, pushing away from me, rubbing a hand over his face. I sat up too, drawing the furs tighter around my shoulders, watching him in the moonlight.

“No.”

“You can’t just say no, Mal. You know what it will mean if he takes me.”

“You asked, I answered. No.”

He stood up and walked a few steps away.

“I told you what will happen. How many people will die if he puts that collar on me.”

“No.”

“You had to know this was a possibility when we headed north. You said you weren't afraid to die. Why can't I be the same?”

He turned and strode back, dropping into a crouch in front of me so that he could look into my eyes.

“It's not the same! I won’t kill you, Alina.”

“I'm not worth everyone else on the continent, Mal. Hundreds, thousands of people will die.”

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head, looking away from me. “No, no, no.”

I took his face in my hands, turning his head until he had to meet my gaze.

“Please,” I whispered.

“I can’t, Alina. I can’t.”

“Mal, that night at the Little Palace, you said the Darkling owned me.”

He winced. “I was angry. I didn’t mean—”

I shook my head. “If he gets the collar, he _will_ own me. Completely. My power, everything. He’ll turn me into a murderer, a monster, and there will be nothing I can do. Please. Please, Mal. I need to know you won’t let that happen to me.”

“How can you ask me to do this?”

“How can I not? Who else could I trust? I need to know that if I can't, you will.”

He looked at me, his face full of desperation and anger and something else I couldn’t read. Finally, he nodded once.

“Promise me, Mal.” His mouth set in a grim line, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. I hated doing this to him, but I had to be sure. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said hoarsely.

I closed my eyes and breathed a long sigh, feeling relief flood through me. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his, closing my eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” I stroked his cheek with my thumbs.

We stayed like that for a long moment, then he leaned back. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me. His face was inches from mine, near enough that I could feel his warm breath. I dropped my hands from his stubbled cheeks, suddenly aware of just how close we were. He stared at me for a moment and then stood abruptly and walked into the dark.

I stayed awake for a long time, cold and miserable, gazing into the night. I could feel him out there, moving silently through the new grass, carrying the weight of the burden I had placed on him. If the roles were reversed and he asked it of me. . .even thinking about it made me feel sick. I was sorry for it, but I was also glad that it was done. I waited for him to return, but sleep finally won out and I drifted off, alone beneath the stars.

 

* * * * *

 

We spent the next few days in the areas surrounding Chernast, scouring miles of terrain for signs of Morozova’s herd, drawing as close to the outpost as we dared. With every passing day, Mal’s mood darkened. He tossed in his sleep and barely ate. Sometimes I woke to him thrashing about under the furs mumbling, “Where are you? Where are you?”

He saw signs of other people—broken branches, displaced rocks, patterns that were invisible to me until he pointed them out—but no signs of the stag.

Then one morning, he shook me awake before dawn.

“Get up,” he said. “They’re close, I can feel it.” He was already pulling the furs off me and shoving them back into his pack.

“Hey.” I complained, barely awake, trying to yank back the covers to no avail. “What about breakfast?”

He tossed me a piece of hardtack. “Eat and walk. I want to try the western trails today. I have a feeling.”

“Yesterday you thought we should head east.”

“That was yesterday,” he said, already shouldering his pack and striding into the tall grass. “Get moving. We need to find that stag so I don’t have to chop your head off.”

“I never said you had to chop my head off,” I grumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and stumbling after him.

“Run you through with a sword, then? Firing squad?”

“While I appreciate how much thought you've obviously been putting into my death, I was thinking something quieter, like maybe a nice poison.”

“All you said was that I had to kill you. You didn’t say how.”

I stuck my tongue out at his back, but I was glad to see him so energized, and I supposed it was a good thing that he could joke about it all.

The western trails took us through groves of squat larches and past meadows clustered with fireweed and red lichen. Mal moved with purpose, his step light as always. No matter how much time we spent in the woods together like this, I never ceased to marvel at how at home he seemed to be here.

The air felt cool and damp, and a few times I caught him glancing nervously up at the overcast sky, but he drove onward. Late in the afternoon, we reached a low hill that sloped gently down into a broad plateau covered in pale grass. Mal paced along the top of the slope, ranging west and then east. He walked down the hill and up the hill, and down it again, until I thought I would scream. At last, he led us to the leeward side of a large cluster of boulders, slid his pack off his shoulders, and said, “Here.”

I shook a fur out on the cold ground and sat down to wait, watching Mal pace uneasily back and forth. Finally, he sat down beside me, eyes trained on the plateau, one hand resting lightly on his bow. I knew that he was seeing them there, picturing the herd emerging from the horizon, white bodies glowing in the gathering dusk, breath pluming in the cold. Maybe he was willing them to appear. This seemed like the right place for the stag—fresh with new grass and spotted with tiny blue lakes that shone like coins in the setting sun.

The daylight melted away and we watched the plateau turn blue in the twilight. We waited, listening to the sound of our own breath and the wind moaning over the vastness of Tsibeya. But as the light faded, the plateau stayed empty.

The moon rose, obscured by clouds. Mal didn’t move. He sat still as stone, staring out into the reaches of the plateau, his blue eyes distant. I pulled the other fur from the pack and wrapped it around his shoulders and mine. Here, in the lee of the rock, we were protected from the worst of the wind, but it wasn’t much for shelter.

Then he sighed deeply and squinted up at the night sky. “It’s going to snow. I should have taken us into the woods, but I thought. . . .” He shook his head. “I was so sure.”

“The mythical creature didn't behave as expected? Clearly that's a commentary on your skill as a tracker. And on your manhood – especially on your manhood. How will I ever look at you the same?” I bemoaned, leaning my head against his shoulder. Then, more serioulsy, “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Our supplies won’t last forever, and every day we’re out here is another chance for us to get caught.”

“Tomorrow,” I said again.

“For all we know, he’s found the herd already. He’s killed the stag and now they’re hunting us.”

“Well now you're just being depressing.”

Mal said nothing. I pulled the fur up higher and I let the tiniest bit of light blossom from my hand.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cold.”

“It isn’t safe,” he said, yanking the fur up to hide the light that shone warm and golden on his face.

“Neither is freezing to death, and it's about to get a lot colder. We haven’t seen another living soul for over a week. Staying hidden won’t do us much good if we're dead.”

He frowned but then he reached out, letting his fingers play in the light, and said, “I really missed this.”

“It missed you, too. It got drunk one night and wrote some really bad poetry about it, in fact. I wish I'd brought it. They would have made great reading material. Or kindling. I hear horrible sonnets burn especially well.”

“. . .Mikhael is dead.”

The light sputtered in my hand. “What?”

“He’s dead. He was killed in Fjerda. Dubrov, too.”

I sat frozen in shock. I’d never liked Mikhael or Dubrov, but that hardly mattered now. “I didn’t realize. . . .” I hesitated. “How did it happen?”

For a moment, I didn’t know if he would answer or even if I should have asked. He stared at the light that still glimmered from my hand, his thoughts far away.

“We were up north near the permafrost, way past the outpost at Chernast,” he said quietly. “We had hunted the stag almost all the way into Fjerda. The captain came up with this idea that a few of us should cross the border disguised as Fjerdans and keep tracking the herd. It was stupid, ridiculous really. Even if we managed to get through the border country undiscovered, what were we supposed to do if we caught up with the herd? We had orders not to kill the stag, so we’d have to capture it and then somehow get it back over the border into Ravka. It was insane.”

I nodded.

“So that night, Mikhael and Dubrov and I laughed about it, talked about how it was a suicide mission and how the captain was a complete idiot, and we toasted the poor bastards who got stuck with the job. And the next morning I volunteered.”

“Why?” I asked, aghast.

Mal was silent again. At last, he said, “You saved my life on the Shadow Fold, Alina.”

“Half as many times as you saved mine,” I objected, unsure of what any of that had to do with a suicide mission into Fjerda. But Mal didn’t seem to hear me.

“You saved my life and then in the Grisha tent, when they led you away, I didn’t do anything. I stood there and let him take you.”

A harsh bark of laughter escaped me. “What were you supposed to do, Mal?”

“Something. Anything.”

“You-”

“I know it doesn’t make sense.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “But it’s how I felt. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing you getting pulled away while you fought, seeing you disappear, hearing you tell me you were _sorry.”_ He looked a mix of horrified and disgusted and angry at the memory.

I thought of all the nights I had lain awake in the Little Palace, remembering my last glimpse of Mal’s face vanishing into the crowd as the Darkling’s guards pulled me away, wondering if I would ever see him again, wondering how mad he was that I'd broken my promise. I had missed him so terribly, but I had never really believed that Mal would be missing me just as much. Or even at all, sometimes. And I had never believed that he would blame himself for what had happened.

“All the time I've known you, you hid your powers. I told myself it was because you wanted to, but I never stopped to wonder if that was true. I just assumed that you wanted to stay free, and that you wanted-” He cut off, then started again. “I knew we were hunting the stag for the Darkling,” Mal continued. “I thought. . .I had this idea that if I found the herd, I could help you. I could help to make things right.” He glanced at me and the knowledge of how very wrong he had been passed between us. “Mikhael didn’t know any of that. But he was my friend, so like an ass, he volunteered, too. And then, of course, Dubrov had to sign on. I told them not to, but Mikhael just laughed and said he wasn’t going to let me get all the glory.”

“What happened?” My voice was a whisper.

“Nine of us crossed the border, six soldiers and three trackers. Two of us came back.”

His words hung in the air, cold and final. Seven men dead in pursuit of the stag. And how many others that I didn’t know about? But even as I thought it, an unsettling idea entered my mind: How many lives could the stag’s power save? Mal and I were refugees, born to the wars that had raged at Ravka’s borders for so long. What if the Darkling was right? What if he and the terrible power of the Shadow Fold could stop all that? The Grisha certainly fared well under his rule. Could he silence Ravka’s enemies and the wars and make us safe forever?

 _Not just Ravka’s enemies,_ I reminded myself. _Anyone who stands against the Darkling, anyone who opposes him._

Mal rubbed a hand over his tired face. “It was all for nothing anyway. The herd crossed back into Ravka when the weather turned. We could have just waited for the stag to come to us.”

I looked at Mal, at his distant eyes and the hard set of his scarred jaw. He looked nothing like the boy I’d known. He’d been trying to help me when he went after the stag. That meant that I was a piece of the reason behind the change in him, and it broke my heart to think of it.

If he hadn't gone into Fjerda, I might never have gotten the chance to run. I didn't want to think that could be worth the lives of seven soldiers. But if I hadn't run, how many more people would have died?

“I’m sorry, Mal. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Alina. I made my own choices. But those choices got my friends killed.”

I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him close. But I couldn’t, not with this new Mal. Maybe not with the old one either, I admitted to myself. We weren’t children anymore. The ease of our closeness was a thing of the past. I reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

“If it’s not my fault, then it’s not yours either. Mikhael and Dubrov made their own choices, too. Mikhael wanted to be a good friend. And for all you know, he had his own reasons for wanting to track the stag. He wasn’t a child, and he wouldn’t want to be remembered as one.”

Mal didn’t look at me, but after a moment he laid his hand over mine. I put my fingers through his. We were still sitting that way when the first flakes of snow began to fall.


	20. What Is Mine

My light kept us warm through the night in the lee of the rock. Sometimes I dozed off and Mal had to nudge me awake when it got too cold so that I could pull sun across the dark and starlit stretches of Tsibeya to warm us beneath the furs.

When we emerged the next morning, the sun shone brightly over a world blanketed in white. This far north, snow was common well into spring, but it was hard not to feel that the weather was just another part of our bad luck. Mal took one look at the pristine expanse of the meadow and gave a disgusted shake of his head. I didn’t have to ask what he was thinking. If the herd had been close by, any sign they had left would have been covered by the snow. But we would leave plenty of tracks for anyone else to follow.

Without a word, we shook out the furs and stowed them away. Mal tied his bow to his pack, and we began the trek across the plateau. It was slow going. Mal did what he could to disguise our tracks, but it was clear that we were in serious trouble.

I knew he blamed himself for not being able to find the stag, but I didn’t know how to fix that. Tsibeya felt somehow bigger than it had the previous day. Or maybe I just felt smaller.

Eventually, the meadow gave way to groves of thin silver birches and dense clusters of pines, their branches laden with snow. Mal’s pace slowed. He looked exhausted, dark shadows lingering beneath his blue eyes. On an impulse, I slid my gloved hand into his. I thought he might pull away, but instead, he squeezed my fingers. We walked on that way, hand in hand through the late afternoon, the pine boughs clustered in a canopy high above us as we moved deeper into the dark heart of the woods.

Around sunset, we emerged from the trees into a little glade where the snow lay in heavy, perfect drifts that glittered in the fading light. We slipped into the stillness, our footfalls muffled by the snow. It was late. I knew we should be making camp, finding shelter. Instead, we stood there in silence, hands clasped, watching the day disappear. A bright, full moon was already in the sky.

“Alina?” Mal said quietly. “I’m sorry. For what I said that night, at the Little Palace.”

I glanced at him, surprised. Somehow, that all felt like such a long time ago. I wanted to make a joke about it, but I knew that wouldn't be the right thing to do. “I’m sorry, too,” I said instead.

“And I’m sorry for everything else.”

I squeezed his hand.

He looked away from me. “I. . . . When I came after you, I thought I was doing it because you saved my life, because I owed you something.”

My heart gave a confused little twist. The idea that Mal thought he owed me something for saving him was more painful than I would have expected. “Thought?”

He nodded quietly.

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know what to think. I just know everything is different.”

My heart gave another miserable twist and I huffed a laugh. “I think I might know what you mean.”

“Do you? That night at the palace when I saw you on that stage with him, you looked so happy. Like you belonged with him. I can’t get that picture out of my head.”

“I _was_ happy,” I admitted with a small smile. “When they took me there, time passed and I started to feel like I was worth something. Just me, the real me, on my own. I started to feel like there might be a place for me somewhere. A piece of me woke up. I found more power than I'd ever thought I had, and I realized I had been hiding all my life. Not just my abilities, but a piece of myself, of my soul. And I started to feel like I finally fit somewhere. But even then, even when I felt all of that hope and possibility, it was never quite right, because you weren't there.

“In that moment on stage with him, I was happy, yes. It was the first time in as long as I can remember that you weren't on my mind. It was the first time that I felt like Alina existed, even if Mal wasn't there. I’m not like you. I don't make friends like you do and I never really fit anywhere, not the way you did. Not even with most of the other Grisha. The only two in Os Alta I wanted to belong with were the two who did nothing but lie to me and manipulate me from the day I met them.” I huffed a bitter laugh. “I've never belonged anywhere.”

“You belonged with me,” he said quietly.

“No, Mal.” I shook my head sadly. “No. Not really. Not for a long, long time.”

He looked at me then, and his eyes were deep blue in the twilight. “Did you miss me, Alina? Did you miss me when you were gone?”

“Every single day,” I said honestly.

“I missed you every hour. And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I’d catch myself walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I’d seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear you make a joke. And then I’d realize that you weren’t there anymore, and every time, every single time, it was like having the wind knocked out of me.

“I’ve risked my life for you. I’ve walked half the length of Ravka for you, and I’d do it again and again and again just to be with you, just to starve with you and freeze with you and hear you complain about hard cheese every day. So don’t tell me we don’t belong together,” he said fiercely. He was very close now, and my heart was suddenly hammering in my chest. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see you, Alina. But I see you now.”

He lowered his head, and as he did, another face, pale and with cool gray eyes, flashed through my mind, and I tensed minutely. Mal pulled himself back, looking dazed, as if I had struck him.

Without thinking, I pushed up to the balls of my feet and pressed my lips to his. It was only a moment before he relaxed and reached a hand behind me to cup the back of my head. The world seemed to go silent and all I knew was the feel of his hand in mine as he drew me closer, and the warm press of his mouth, and the liquid feeling that spread through me as I fit against him. This. This was right.

I thought that I’d given up on Mal. I thought the love I’d had for him belonged to the past, to the foolish, lonely girl I never wanted to be again. But the moment our lips met, I knew with pure and piercing certainty that a part of me would have waited for him forever. Because though I had never belonged in the world, Mal was right: I belonged with _him._ Place, living, nothing else mattered. I was wrapped in the arms of the one person in the world who was my home, who had always been my home, and I had never felt it so clearly in my life. Whatever was between us felt just as bright, just as undeniable, just as vital to my being as the light inside of me.

He pulled back from me, and my eyes fluttered open, dazed. He moved the hand on the base of my head to cup my face, his gaze searching mine.

Then I felt them along the lines of my web, and my eyes darted over Mal's shoulder. Moments later, I caught a flickering movement in the trees.

“Mal,” I breathed softly, gazing over his shoulder, “look.”

Several white bodies emerged from the treeline, their graceful necks bent to nibble at the grasses on the edge of the snowy glade. In the middle of Morozova’s herd stood a massive white stag. He looked at us with great dark eyes, his silvery antlers gleaming in the half light.  
In one swift movement, Mal drew his bow from the side of his pack. “I’ll bring it down, Alina. You make the kill,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

“Wait,” I whispered, laying a hand on his arm.

The stag walked slowly forward and stopped just a few yards from us. I could see his sides rising and falling, the flare of his nostrils, the fog of his breath in the chill air.

He watched us with eyes dark and liquid. I walked toward him.

“Alina!” Mal whispered.

The stag didn’t move as I approached him, not even when I slipped off one of my gloves and reached out my hand and laid it on his warm muzzle. His ears twitched slightly, his hide glowing milky white in the deepening gloom. I thought of everything Mal and I had given up, the risks we’d taken. I thought about the weeks we had spent tracking the herd, the cold nights, the miserable days of endless walking, and I was glad of it all. Glad to be here and alive on this chilly night. Glad that Mal was beside me. I looked into the stag’s dark eyes, gently stroking his soft muzzle, and knew the feel of the earth beneath his steady hooves, the smell of pine in his nostrils, the powerful beat of his heart. The Darkling had said he felt the stag was meant for me, and the connection I felt to it then was incredible. But I knew I could not be the one to end his life. I felt he was as much a piece of me as my heart or bones.

“Alina,” Mal murmured urgently, “we don’t have much time. You know what you have to do.”

I shook my head slowly. I could not break the stag’s dark gaze. “No. No, Mal. He's. . . . We’ll find another way.”

There was a sound like a soft whistle on the air followed by a dull thunk as an arrow found its target. The stag bellowed and reared up, an arrow blooming from his chest, and then crumpled to his forelegs. I cried out and staggered backward as the rest of the herd took flight, scattering into the forest. Mal was beside me in an instant, his bow at the ready, as the clearing filled with charcoal-clad oprichniki and Grisha cloaked in blue and red.

“You should have listened to him, Alina.” The voice came clear and cold out of the shadows, and the Darkling stepped into the glade, a grim smile playing on his lips, his black kefta flowing behind him like an ebony stain.

Where had he come from? Where had they all come from?

The stag had fallen on his side and lay in the snow, breathing heavily, his black eyes wide and panicked.

I felt Mal move before I saw him. His bow snapped around to the stag and he let fly, but a blue-robed Squaller stepped forward, his hand arcing through the air. The arrow swerved left, falling harmlessly into the snow.

Mal reached for another arrow and at the same moment the Darkling threw his hand out, sending a black ribbon of darkness rippling toward us. I raised my hands and light shot from them, shattering the darkness easily.

But it had only been a diversion. The Darkling turned on the stag, lifting his arm in a gesture I knew only too well. “No!” I screamed and, without thinking, I threw myself in front of it. I squeezed my eyes shut, ready to feel myself rent in half, but the Darkling must have turned at the last moment. The tree behind me split open with a loud crack, tendrils of darkness spilling from the wound. He’d spared me, but he’d also spared the stag.

All humor was gone from the Darkling’s face as he slammed his hands together and a huge wall of rippling darkness surged forward, engulfing us. I didn’t have to think. Light bloomed in a pulsing, glowing sphere, surrounding me and Mal, keeping the darkness at bay and blinding our attackers. For the moment, we were at a stalemate. They couldn’t see us and we couldn’t see them. The darkness swirled around the bubble of light, pushing to get in.

“Impressive,” said the Darkling, his voice coming to us as if from a great distance. “Baghra taught you far too well. But you’re not strong enough for this, Alina.”

“It must be frustrating when your toys can fight back!”

He laughed. “Don't flatter yourself. This won't go on long enough to be a fight.”

I knew he was trying to distract me and I ignored him.

“You! Tracker! Are you so ready to die for her?” the Darkling called. Mal’s expression didn’t change. He stood, bow at the ready, arrow nocked, turning in a slow circle, searching out the Darkling’s voice. “That was a very touching scene we witnessed,” he mocked. “Did you tell him, Alina? Does the boy know how willing you were to give yourself to me? Did you tell him what I showed you in the dark?”

A wave of shock rushed through me and the glowing light faltered. The Darkling laughed.

I glanced at Mal. His jaw was set. He radiated the same icy anger I had seen the night of the winter fete. I redoubled my hold on the light. The Darkling would do anything to get me to slip. My sphere stuttered with fresh brilliance, but I could feel my reach brushing up against the boundaries of what I could do. Darkness began to leak into the edges of the bubble like ink. I pulled the light tighter around us, condensing it to shut him out.

I knew what had to be done. The Darkling was right; I wasn’t strong enough. And we were quickly running out of time.

“Mal,” I whispered. “It's time.”

He looked at me, panic flaring in his eyes. He shook his head. Darkness surged against the bubble. I stumbled slightly.

“Damnit, Mal, do it! I can't hold this much longer!”

In one lightning movement, Mal dropped his bow and reached for his knife. His hand was shaking. I could feel my strength ebbing. He took a single step toward me. “I can’t,” he whispered miserably. “I can’t.” He let go of the knife, letting it fall soundlessly into the snow.

I growled and picked it up. Mal looked at me. The blood had drained from his face. He took a swift step forward, his hand out. “Don't. Alina-”

“Look away, Mal,” I begged. “Please. If you live through this, this isn't how I want you to remember me. Please,” I urged again when he didn't move.

The look of pain on his face broke my heart and nearly shattered my concentration, but he stepped in front of me, bow at the ready again. I steeled myself, took a deep breath and, before I had time to be afraid, pulled the blade hard across my throat.

A gurgling sound came from my mouth. The light around me flickered as I fell to my knees, and darkness crept in, nearly breaking the sphere around us. It took everything I had to keep it up, and I put everything I was into the pool of my power until I felt like there was nothing else in the world.

I heard Baghra's gruff command in my mind: _If you're awake, it's up._

But I couldn't breathe. It came in wet gasps and my mouth tasted of metal. My throat and chest were warm and cold from the blood, spilling faster than the air could chill it through. I fell forward, holding myself up with the hand that still tightly clutched the knife, trying not to fight for air, trying to let myself slip away. It had to happen fast, or this would be for nothing. I heard Mal shout my name, but he sounded far away, as if I were under water or on the other side of a wall.

_There is only the light._

Someone dropped to the ground at my side and I felt hands on me.

People were shouting, but the sound was muffled and far away.

_My power. My light._

Suddenly, I fell to the side, my descent slowed by a pair of arms, and the world was dark, suffocating blackness. Mal yelled again and the arms holding me were ripped away. I heard him cry out (Was he angry, or in pain? I couldn't tell.) and I tried to reach toward his voice, but only managed to twitch my fingers.

And then everything was gone.

 

* * * * *

 

When I woke I wasn't certain if any time had passed. I was on my back in the snow, and everything felt muffled and fuzzy. My body felt weighted down. My throat itched _terribly,_ and I found I could breathe easier. I felt a familiar tingling where I had cut myself and realized with a start that someone must be healing me.

My eyes flew open and I tried to move, but several pairs of hands clamped down harder on my legs and arms, chest and hips. That must have been the weight I had felt. People were holding me down. When I tried to move my head, another pair of hands gripped it tightly. Blood gurgled into my mouth when I tried to speak, and I coughed it up. I felt a hand wipe it away where it spilled down my cheek.

“Hold still,” the Darkling's cool voice said from close by. “Relax, or I'll have you put under again.” I realized he had had one of his Corporalki slow my heart.

I looked up and found that the Darkling was the one holding my head. I tried to look around for Mal, but he only held me tighter, his fingers pressing into my skull. “Hold still,” he repeated, and this time his voice was hard. “Your tracker is alive. For now.”

“Alina!” I heard Mal call. I struggled against the hands holding me, needing to see him. I stopped dead when I heard him cry out in agony. When I stilled, Mal's cries ceased.

I tried to call out.

“Shhhhhh,” the Darkling said. His lips curled into a mocking smile. “Quiet now, and _still,_ or I will let Ivan kill him next time. Slowly.”

I lay still, angry, bitter tears spilling down the sides of my face, freezing in the cold night air.

He smirked, and I glared my hatred at him.

There were torches burning nearby, lighting what I could see of the clearing and soldiers. A quiet sawing sound filled the stillness of the clearing, and I felt sick when I realized the stag must be dead. Of course the Darkling would have wasted no time.

The itching at my throat was so overpowering that it almost wasn't hard to keep my thoughts from slipping into despair at how horribly wrong everything had gone.

I closed my eyes and fresh tears rolled down my face. The Darkling released his grip on me, and I felt gloved fingers wipe them away. He whispered near my ear, “This will all be over soon.”

I looked anywhere but at him.

The healer finished with my throat, and I was helped to my feet by two red-clad Grisha. They kept hold of my arms, supporting more of my weight than I would have wanted to admit.

An oprichnik crossed the glade and handed two pieces of antler to the Darkling. They were almost evenly matched, both ending in double prongs of roughly the same size. The Darkling clasped the pieces in his hands, letting his thumb roll over the rough, silvery bone. Then he gestured, and I was surprised to see David emerge from the shadows in his purple kefta.

Of course. The Darkling would want his best Fabrikator to fashion the collar. David wouldn’t meet my gaze. I wondered if Genya knew where he was and what he was doing. Maybe she would be proud. Maybe she thought of me as a traitor now, too.

“David,” I plead softly, “don’t do this. Please don't do this.”

He glanced at me and then hurriedly looked away.

“David understands the future,” said the Darkling, the edge of a threat in his voice. “And he knows better than to fight it.”

David came to stand behind my right shoulder. The Darkling studied me in the torchlight. For a moment, all was silence. Twilight had gone, and the moon glowed in the sky, bright and full. The glade seemed suspended in stillness.

“Open your coat,” said the Darkling.

I didn’t move. I just met his stare with reproach in my gaze.

The Darkling glanced at Ivan and nodded. Mal screamed, his hands clutching his chest as he crumpled to the ground.

“No!” I cried. I lunged forward to run to him, but the guards on either side of me held tight to my arms. “Please,” I begged the Darkling, “make him stop!”

The Darkling nodded, and Mal’s cries ceased. He lay in the snow, breathing hard, his gaze fixed on Ivan’s arrogant sneer, his eyes full of hatred.

The Darkling watched me, waiting, his face impassive. He looked nearly bored. I shrugged off the oprichniki. With shaking hands, I wiped the tears from my eyes and moved to unbutton my coat, but was hit with a wave of dizziness. Black swam before my eyes and I stumbled forward. The guards caught me before I fell to the ground, and I struggled to regain enough control of my legs to stand on my own.

“Do it for her,” the Darkling said calmly.

The guards worked between them to unbutton my coat, then slid it open to bare my shoulders.

Distantly, I was aware of the cold seeping through my wool tunic, of the watching eyes of the soldiers and the Grisha. My head cleared, and my world narrowed to the curving pieces of bone in the Darkling’s hands. I felt a sweeping sense of horror.

“Lift your hair,” he murmured. “One hand. They'll support you.” I lifted the hair away from my neck as the oprichnik on that side shifted to take my weight under my shoulder. I kept my eyes, cold and hard, locked on the Darkling's.

He stepped forward and pushed the fabric of my tunic out of the way. When his fingertips brushed against my skin, I flinched slightly. I saw a flash of anger pass over his face.

He placed the curving pieces of antler around my throat, one on each side, letting them rest on my collarbones with almost reverent care. He nodded at David, and I felt the Fabrikator take hold of the antlers. In my mind’s eye, I saw David standing behind me, wearing the same focused expression I’d seen that first day in the workrooms of the Little Palace. I saw the pieces of bone shift and melt together. No clasp, no hinge. I had to admit, it was brilliant. This collar would be mine to wear forever. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

“It’s done,” whispered David. He dropped the collar, and I felt the weight of it settle on my neck. I closed my eyes and bunched my hands into weak fists, waiting.

Nothing happened. I felt a sudden reckless shock of hope.

Then the Darkling closed his fingers over my shoulder and a silent command reverberated inside me: _Light._ It felt like an invisible hand reaching into my chest.

Golden light burst through me, flooding the clearing. I saw the Darkling squinting in the brightness, his features alight with triumph and exultation.

 _No,_ I thought, trying to release the light, to send it away. But as soon as the idea of resistance had formed, that invisible hand batted it away like it was nothing.

Another command echoed through me: _More._ A fresh surge of power roared through my body, wilder and stronger than anything I had ever felt. There was no end to it. The control I’d learned, all the understanding I’d gained collapsed before it—houses I’d built, imperfect but strong, smashed to kindling in the oncoming flood that was the power of the stag. I nearly felt undone by it. Light exploded from me in wave after shimmering wave, obliterating the night sky in a torrent of brilliance. But I felt none of the exhilaration or joy I had always felt when using my power. I did not feel whole or alive. It wasn’t mine anymore, and I was drowning and helpless, caught in that horrible, invisible grip.

The Darkling held me there, testing my new limits, on and on and on—for exactly how long, I couldn’t tell. I only knew when I felt the invisible hand release its grip.

Darkness fell on the clearing once again. I sucked in a ragged breath, trying to get my bearings, to piece myself back together. My body felt flush and warm and energized, but still weak. Residual light tingled dimly over my skin. The flickering torchlight illuminated the awed expressions of the guards and Grisha, and Mal, still on the ground, his face crumpled, his eyes full of regret. There was no sound to be heard.

When I looked at the Darkling, he was watching me closely, his eyes narrowed. He looked from me to Mal, then turned to his men. “Put him in chains.”

I opened my mouth to object, but a glance from Mal made me shut it.

“We’ll camp tonight and leave for the Fold at first light,” said the Darkling. “Send word to the Apparat to be ready.” He turned to me. “If you try to harm yourself again, the tracker will suffer for it.”

“What about the stag?” asked Ivan.

“Burn it.”

A small, quiet keening noise came from my throat, but it was ignored.

One of the Etherealki lifted his arm to a torch, and the flame shot forward in a sweeping arc, surrounding the stag’s lifeless body. As we were led from the clearing, me stumbling along between my guards as best I could, there was no sound but our own footfalls and the crackling of the flames behind us. No rustle came from the trees, no insect buzz or nightbird call. The woods were silent in their grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Did you tell him, Alina? Does the boy know how willing you were to give yourself to me? Did you tell him what I showed you in the dark?”  
>   
> Alternate response:  
> "Is. . .was that a penis joke?" I asked, half incredulous, half confused.
> 
> Or:  
> "Bitch I told you _no."_
> 
> Or:  
> "Yes! I told him it was tiny and that I laughed!"  
> (I love you for that, Inkydoc)


	21. Full Circle

We walked in silence for over an hour. One of my guards had to pick me up and carry me by the end, and I was too weak to protest. I stared numbly down at the feet of the men and women in front of us, watching their boots move through the snow, thinking about the stag and the price of my weakness. Eventually, I saw firelight flickering through the trees, and we emerged into a clearing where a small camp had been made around a roaring fire. I noted several small tents and a group of horses tethered amid the trees. Two oprichniki sat beside the fire, eating their evening meal.

Mal’s guards took him to one of the tents, pushing him inside and following after. I tried to catch his eye, but he disappeared too quickly.

Ivan dragged me across the camp to another tent and gave me a shove. Inside, I saw several bedrolls laid out. He pushed me forward and gestured to the pole at the center of the tent. “Sit,” he ordered. I collapsed against it, sliding down with my back to the pole, and he tethered me to it, tying my hands behind my back and binding my ankles.

“Comfortable?”

“Do you know what he plans to do, Ivan?”

“He plans to bring us peace.”

“At what price?” I asked. 

“Did you know I had two brothers?” He asked abruptly. The familiar smirk was gone from his handsome face. “Of course not. They weren’t born Grisha. They were soldiers, and they both died fighting the King’s wars. So did my father. So did my uncle.”

“. . .I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Yes, everyone is sorry. The King is sorry. The Queen is sorry. I’m sorry. I bet people tell you they're sorry, too, when they learn where you come from. But only the Darkling will do something about it.”

“I could destroy the Fold, Ivan. We wouldn't be cut off anymore, we wouldn't be weak.”

Ivan shook his head. “The Darkling knows what has to be done.”

“Why do you have so much faith in him?” I sincerely wanted to know.

“Because he _cares,_ ” he said, leaning toward me, and he seemed almost angry. “He will put a stop to this, he has a plan, and he has the power to carry it out. He will end it.”

“At what cost?” I asked again.

“The price doesn't matter. All that matters is that it stops.”

“You know this isn't right.”

His eyes were dark and cold. "Nothing in my life has been right." 

“It has to matter. It has to matter who dies. How many more people lose their families. I can't put my faith in someone who wants to rule the world. There has to be a better way. It won't work, anyway. No one bows to a tyrant. People will always fight him.”

“You don't know what you're talking about. People will always die, they've been dying for hundreds of years. If more have to die to assure that less people know what it is to lose everything. . .it's nothing that wouldn't have been sacrificed anyway.”

I couldn't deny that what he said made sense. But my mind was sluggish, and I thought about it for so long that he turned to leave.

“If that's really true” I said, stopping his hand on the tent flap. His head turned toward me over his shoulder. “. . .Then I'll help. For my parents. For your brothers. For your father and uncle. For everyone like us. But only if there's no other way. And I don't believe that. What he wants to do. . .it isn't a solution. It's madness.”

A muscle twitched in Ivan’s jaw. “Keep talking treason and I’ll gag you,” he said, and without another word, he strode out of the tent.

A while later, a Summoner and a Heartrender ducked inside. I didn’t recognize either of them. The Heartrender tried to get me to drink a cup of what smelled like broth, and when I refused, she mentioned, clearly with some discomfort, that Mal's care depended on my compliance. I drank, a broken and weary tear rolling down my cheek. Then, both avoiding my gaze, they silently hunched into their furs and blew out the lamp.

I sat awake in the dark, watching the flickering light of the campfire play over the canvas walls of the tent. I could feel the weight of the collar against my neck, and my bound hands itched to claw at it. I thought of Mal, just a few feet away in another tent.

I knew it would be stupid, but after a long hesitation, I yelled, loud enough that I was sure he'd hear it, "Goodnight."

I heard Mal grunt as someone punched him in the stomach, and had no more thoughts of talking.

I’d known what mercy might cost us. My freedom. Mal’s life. The lives of countless others. And still I’d been too weak to do what needed to be done. I’d brought us to this. If I’d taken the stag’s life, his power would have been mine and Mal and I would be safe. The world would be safe. 

That night, I dreamed of the stag. I saw the arrow hit it. I saw the Darkling kill it again and again, each way more gruesome than the last. I saw the panic in his dark eyes. But when I looked down, it was my blood that spilled red into the snow.

With a gasp, I woke to the sounds of the camp coming to life around me. The tent flap opened and a Heartrender appeared. She gave me a quick examination, forced another cup of broth down me, then cut me loose from the tent pole and hauled me to my feet. My body creaked and popped in protest, stiff from a night spent sitting in a cramped position, but I felt much stronger.

The Heartrender led me over to where the horses were already saddled and the Darkling stood talking quietly to Ivan and the other Grisha. I looked around for Mal and felt a sudden jab of panic when I couldn’t find him, but then I saw an oprichnik pull him from the other tent.

“What do we do with him?” the guard asked Ivan.

“Let the traitor walk,” Ivan replied. “And when he gets too tired, let the horses drag him.”

I bristled and opened my mouth to protest, but before I could say a word, the Darkling spoke.

“No,” he said, gracefully mounting his horse. “I want him alive when we reach the Shadow Fold.”

The guard shrugged and helped Mal mount his horse, then tied his shackled hands to the saddle horn. I felt a rush of relief followed by a sharp prickle of fear at the words he'd used. No reason the Darkling would have for not killing him here and now would end well for Mal. _He’s still alive now,_ I told myself, _and that means there’s still a chance to save him._

“Ride with her,” the Darkling said to Ivan. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.” He didn’t spare me another glance as he kicked his horse into a trot.

We rode for hours through the forest, past the plateau where Mal and I had waited for the herd. I could just see the boulders where we’d spent the night, and I wondered if the light that had kept us alive through the snowstorm had been the very thing that had led the Darkling to us.

I knew he was taking us back to Kribirsk, but I hated to think what might be waiting for me there. Who would the Darkling choose to move against first? Would he launch a fleet of sandskiffs north to Fjerda? Or did he intend to march south to drive the Fold into the Shu Han? Whose deaths would be on my hands first?

It took another night and day of travel before we reached the wide roads that would lead us south to the Vy. We were met at the crossroads by a huge contingent of armed men, most of them in oprichniki gray. They brought fresh horses and the Darkling’s coach. Ivan dumped me on the velvet cushions with little ceremony and climbed inside after me. Then, with a snap of the reins, we were moving again.

Ivan insisted we keep the curtains drawn, but I snuck a peek outside and saw that we were flanked by heavily armed riders. It was hard not to be reminded of the first trip I’d made with Ivan in this same vehicle.

The soldiers made camp at night, but I was kept in isolation, confined to the Darkling’s coach. Ivan brought me my meals, clearly disgusted at having to play nursemaid. He made it clear that if I didn't eat, Mal wouldn't. And likewise, anything I tried to do to myself would be done to Mal. He refused to speak to me as we rode and threatened to slow my pulse enough to send me into unconsciousness if I persisted in talking. But I asked about Mal every day anyway.

I slept poorly. Every night, I dreamed of the snowy glade, and the stag’s dark eyes, staring at me in the stillness. It was a nightly reminder of my failure and the sorrow my mercy had reaped. The stag had died anyway, and now Mal and I were doomed. Every morning, I woke with a fresh sense of guilt and shame, but also with the frustrating feeling that I was forgetting something, some message that had been clear and obvious in the dream but that hovered just outside of understanding when I woke.

I didn’t see the Darkling again until we reached the outskirts of Kribirsk, when the door to the coach suddenly opened and he slid into the seat opposite me. Ivan vanished without a word.

I turned to the side and put my feet up on the seat, resting my back against the wall of the coach and hugging my knees against my chest.

He sat and watched me.

“Is he alive?” I asked by way of greeting.

I saw the fingers of his gloved hands clench, but when he spoke, his voice was as cold and smooth as ever. “We’re entering Kribirsk,” he said. “When we are greeted by the other Grisha, you will not say a word about your little excursion.”

My jaw dropped. “They don’t know?”

“All they know is that you’ve been in seclusion, preparing for your crossing of the Shadow Fold with prayer and rest.”

A dry bark of laughter escaped me. “Good thing I look so well rested.”

“I’ll say you’ve been fasting.”

“That’s why none of the soldiers in Ryevost were looking for me,” I said with dawning understanding. “You never told the King.”

“If word of your disappearance had gotten out, you would have been hunted down and killed by Fjerdan assassins within days.”

“What a pity that would have been,” I said bitterly.

The Darkling studied me for a long moment. “Just what kind of life did you think you could have with him, Alina? He’s otkazat’sya. He's already betrayed you once. He can never hope to understand your power, and if he did, he’d only come to fear you. There is no ordinary life for people like you and me.”

“He didn't have anything to do with this. I didn't leave to be with him, I didn't even think I'd ever see him again. And I am nothing like you,” I added flatly.

His lips curled in a tight, bitter smile. “Of course not,” he said courteously. Then he knocked on the roof of the coach and it rolled to a stop. “When we arrive, you’ll say your hellos, then plead exhaustion and retire to your tent. And if you do anything reckless, I will torture the tracker until he begs me to take his life.”

And he was gone.

I rode the rest of the way into Kribirsk alone, trying to stop trembling. _Mal is alive,_ I told myself. That’s all that matters. But another thought crept in. _Maybe the Darkling is letting you believe he’s still alive just to keep you in line._ I wrapped my arms around myself, praying that it wasn’t true. Either way, my behavior would be the same.

I pulled back the curtains as we rode through Kribirsk and felt a pang of sadness as I remembered walking this same road so many months ago. I’d nearly been crushed by the very coach I was riding in. Mal had saved me, and Zoya had looked at him from the window of the Summoners’ coach. I’d wished to be like her. 

When Ivan came back into the coach, it was with fresh clothes, a cloth, and water. He told me to wash the blood off myself and change. He looked away as I did, but didn't leave.

“Do you the truth about him, Ivan? What he is?” I asked quietly as I worked what was left of the crusted blood from my hair and skin.

He didn't answer.

“Life's funny, isn't it? One minute, you're a nobody soldier hiding your true nature, the next you're the salvation of Ravka, treasured of the Darkling himself.” My tone turned flippantly light as I went on. “Then you find out he's been lying to you, manipulating you, planning to turn you into a slave, and wants to take over the continent.”

“Shut up, Starkov.”

For a long minute, the only sound inside the coach was me re-wetting the cloth and wringing it out again. 

“. . .Sure thing, Ivan,” I said softly.

When we finally pulled up to the immense black silk tent, a crowd of Grisha swarmed around the coach. Marie and Nadia, Natalya, Ruslan, and Sergei rushed forward to greet me. I was caught off guard by how good it felt to see them again.

As they caught sight of me, their excitement vanished, replaced by worry and concern. They’d expected a triumphant Sun Summoner, wearing the greatest amplifier ever known, radiant with power and the favor of the Darkling. Instead, they saw a pale, tired girl, broken by misery.

“Are you all right?” Marie whispered when she hugged me.

“Of course!” I promised, hoping I was hiding the despair behind my eyes. “Surprising how tiring prayer can be. I am now convinced that priests aren't paid enough. But you'll have to excuse me, I'm told there's a mountain of kalduny waiting for me in my tent and I plan to bury myself in it.”

I smiled brightly and laughed off their worries, pulling on every moment I had ever had to lie or fake an emotion in my life. The hardest part was feigning enthusiasm as they marveled at Morozova's collar and reached out to touch it. I nearly flinched away each time. To them, it meant hope. I knew better, and with each look of wonder I felt a little more ill.

The Darkling was never far from view, a warning in his eyes, and I kept moving through the crowd, cutting greetings short and speeding goodbyes, shooting him dark looks each moment I thought I could get away with it.

As we passed through the Grisha pavilion, I caught sight of Zoya sulking on a pile of cushions. She stared greedily at the collar as I passed. _You’re welcome to it,_ I thought bitterly, and hurried my steps, not bothering to hide the hard look on my face.

Ivan led me to a private tent close to the Darkling’s quarters. Fresh clothes were waiting on my camp cot along with a tub of hot water and my black kefta. I didn't know what I wanted to do more at the sight of it: laugh at the absurdity of the feeling of belonging it had once given me, or cry. 

The Darkling’s guards were stationed all around the perimeter of my tent. Only I knew they were there to monitor just as much as protect me. The tent was luxuriously appointed with piles of furs, a painted table and chairs, and a Fabrikator mirror, clear as water and inlaid with gold. I would have traded it all in an instant to shiver beside Mal on a threadbare blanket.

I had no visitors, and I spent my days pacing back and forth with nothing to do but worry and imagine the worst. Why was the Darkling was waiting to enter the Shadow Fold? I didn't know what he might be planning, and my guards certainly weren’t going to discuss it.

On the fourth night, when the flap of my tent opened, I nearly fell off my cot. There was Genya, holding my dinner tray and looking impossibly gorgeous. I sat up, unsure of what to say.

She entered and set down the tray, hovering near the table. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Probably not,” I agreed uncertainly. “I’m surprised I was allowed a visitor. Even you.”

“No, I mean I shouldn’t be here. It’s incredibly dirty.”

I didn't so much as crack a smile. I couldn't. She smiled slightly and settled herself gracefully on the edge of the painted chair.

“They’re saying you’ve been in seclusion, preparing for your ordeal,” she said.

“So I've heard.”

“I wish you had told me.”

“Not a lot of planning was involved,” I said drily.

“I would have stopped you.”

“Oddly, I don't think I'm the one in our little group who needs to be stopped.”

More than anything, I wanted to ask about Baghra. But if I did, I knew it would get back to the Darkling.

I remembered what she'd said about the Darkling the night of the fete. _He’s as much a slave to the whims of the King as the rest of us. At least for now._

“Has the King been well?” I asked carefully.

“He's taken ill. The Apparat is ruling in his stead.”

My heart sank. I remembered what the Darkling had said the day that I’d met the Apparat: _He has his uses._

And yet, the priest had wanted to warn me of something. And he hadn’t just spoken of toppling Kings, but Darklings as well. If only I’d been more willing to listen. Another regret to add to my growing list. I didn’t know who the Apparat was truly loyal to, and now there was no way to find out.

The hope that the King might have the desire or will to oppose the Darkling had been a slim one, but it had given me something to hold on to over the last few days. Now that hope was undone, too. “The Queen?” 

A fierce little smile passed over Genya’s lips. “The Queen is confined to her quarters. For her own safety, of course. Contagion, you know.”

That was when I realized what Genya was wearing. I’d been so surprised to see her, so caught up in my own thoughts, that I hadn’t really taken it in. Genya was wearing red. Corporalki red. Her cuffs were embroidered with blue, a combination I had never seen before.

A chill slid up my spine. What role had Genya played in the King’s sudden illness? What had she traded to wear full Grisha colors?

“I see,” I said whispered.

“I did try to warn you,” she said with some sadness.

“You might have tried to be more convincing. Or specific. Should I assume you know what the Darkling plans to do?”

“There are rumors,” she said uncomfortably.

“Rumors.”

She only looked at me.

“Given what I know now, I can tell you they're probably all true.”

“Then it has to be done.”

I stared at her. After a moment, she looked down at her lap. Her fingers pleated and unpleated the folds of her kefta. “David feels terrible,” she whispered. “He thinks he’s destroyed all of Ravka.”

_”David_ feels terrible,” I repeated. I didn't think for a moment she was really talking about the Fabrikator, though I imagined he probably did feel horrible. “It’s not his fault,” I allowed. “I believe a healthy dose of ignorance has been had by all. I certainly had more than one helping. Shall we have a kiss to celebrate my enlightenment?”

She wouldn't look at me. “I'm sorry, Alina,” she whispered. “I didn't want to. Really.”

“Ah, and here I thought I was just that irresistible. Well,” I said with false brightness, trying to ignore the horrible clenching in my chest. “When it's done, we'll all have played our part to bring about the end of the world.”

Genya looked up sharply. “You don’t really believe that.” Distress was written on her face. But was it worry, or was there a warning there as well?

“Which part?”

“Alina-”

I thought of Mal and the Darkling’s threats and cut her off. “You're right, of course.” I said. “I'm all talk. Overly dramatic, you know me. It's all the fasting and praying. Does odd things to a person's mind, as it turns out. I'm all full of funny ideas.”

I knew she didn’t believe me, but her brow cleared, and she smiled her soft, beautiful smile at me. She looked like a painted icon of a Saint, her hair a burnished copper halo. She rose, and as I walked with her to the flap of the tent, the stag’s dark eyes loomed up in my mind, the eyes I saw every night in my dreams.

“Genya.” I stopped her. “For what it’s worth,” I said, “tell David I don't blame him.” 

“I will,” she said quietly. 

I looked at her and said “I don't blame you, either.” I knew what it was to want to belong. And with what she'd been through, I didn't blame her for a moment for doing whatever she thought she had to do to get out.

She opened her mouth to speak, and closed it. She gave me a little smile, then turned and disappeared into the night, but not before I saw that her lovely eyes were full of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kalduny = stuffed dumplings
> 
> The lines about nothing in Ivan's life being right are stolen directly from [The Shadow of War](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4000816/chapters/8985793) by [InsectKin.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InsectKin/pseuds/InsectKin) It's a modern AU whose premise caught my interest and, against all odds, actually kept me reading. I normally loathe modern AUs. It starts out fun, then gets good, then gets _downright_ good, like holy-shit-what-just-happened, and her characterization is spot-on. It's a good read. Which in normal-person speak probably means "it's a really good read!"
> 
> Advanced warning: Chapter 23 is the last "actual" chapter. 24 is the epilogue.


	22. Mercy, His

I picked at my dinner and then lay down on my cot again, turning over the things that Genya had said. She had spent nearly her entire life cloistered away in Os Alta, existing uneasily between the world of the Grisha and the intrigues of the court. The Darkling had put her in that position for his own gain, and now he had raised her out of it. She would never again have to bend to the whim of the King and Queen or wear a servant’s colors. But David had regrets. And if he did, maybe others did, too. Maybe there would be more when the Darkling unleashed the Shadow Fold’s power. Though by then, it would likely be too late.

My thoughts were interrupted by Ivan’s arrival at the entrance to my tent.

“Up,” he commanded. “He wants to see you.”

“How sad for him.”

“Up,” he growled, yanking me to a stand by the arm.

My stomach twisted nervously, but I followed him. As soon as we stepped out of the tent, we were flanked by guards who escorted us the short distance to the Darkling’s quarters.

When they saw Ivan, the oprichniki at the entryway stepped aside. Ivan nodded toward the tent.

“Go on,” he said with a smirk. 

I desperately wanted to smack that knowing look right off his face. Instead, I leaned in and said “you know, _Happy,” _the smile was wiped from his face and I felt a stab of satisfaction, “that's not a good look on you. Really brings out our inner asshole.”__

The heavy silks slid closed on his face behind me and I took a few steps forward, then paused to get my bearings. The tent was large and lit by dimly glowing lamps. The floor was covered in rugs and furs, and at its center burned a fire that crackled in a large silver dish. High above it, a flap in the roof of the tent allowed the smoke to escape and showed a patch of the night sky.

The Darkling sat in a large chair, his long legs sprawled out before him, staring into the fire, a glass in his hand and a bottle of kvas on the table beside him.

Without looking at me, he gestured to the chair across from him. I walked over to the fire, but I did not sit. He glanced at me with faint exasperation and then looked back into the flames.

“Sit down, Alina.”

I leaned my hip against the chair.

He pursed his lips. “Speak,” he said. I was starting to feel like a dog. Perhaps that's what I amounted to in his mind.

“About?”

“Whatever you like.”

“The weather, then? The state of the wool trade? The finer points of topographical measurements in mapmaking? I have nothing to say to you.”

“I imagine you have a great deal to say.” 

“And yet I see no point in saying any of it. You're going to do what you want, that's clear. Nothing I can say will change your mind or your plans, so why bother?”

“Maybe because you want the boy to live.”

I went very still, fighting back a sob and the urge to sag from relief. Mal was alive. “Don't keep trying to use him against me,” I said. I meant for my voice to be cold, but the quaver in it betrayed me.

“Why not? You make it so effective.”

“Maybe because you want me to think there's a shred of humanity in you.”

“He’s a traitor and a deserter.”

“He's the best tracker you'll ever have.”

“Possibly,” said the Darkling with an indifferent shrug. But I knew him better now, and I saw the flicker of hunger in his eyes as he tilted his head back to empty his glass of kvas. I knew what it cost him to think of destroying something he might acquire and use. I pressed this small advantage.

“You could exile him. Send him north to the permafrost until you need him.”

“You’d have him spend the rest of his life in a work camp or a prison?”

“I'd give him the choice.”

“You think you’ll find a way to him, don’t you?” he asked, his voice bemused. “You think that somehow, if he’s alive, you’ll find a way.” He shook his head and gave a short laugh. “I’ve given you power beyond all dreaming, and you can’t wait to run off and keep house for your tracker.”

“What you've done is _take_ power. You took the only thing that was ever mine, the only thing about me that was ever special, and walled it off from me. You put a leash on it and made it yours instead. What I wanted, what I cared about. . . . It was never about what you could give me.” I wondered absently how pathetic I must look to him, still pining after a lie that he'd already discarded. “It was about who I thought you were. I cared about you. I cared because of the pieces I thought I saw underneath the cold face and the cold voice. I wanted to matter, but I didn't need power. I wanted to help, and I wanted. . . I wanted _you._ ” My voice nearly broke on the last word, and I saw something sharp flashed behind his eyes. “But I was a fool. The only thing you ever wanted from me was a slave.”

“That’s never what I intended, Alina.” He ran a hand over his jaw, his expression fatigued, frustrated, human. But how much of it was real? “I couldn’t take chances,” he said. “Not with the power of the stag, not with Ravka’s future hanging in the balance.”

“Funny. It sounded like that was exactly what you intended when you were talking to Ivan about how to best trick me into letting you kill it. Minutes after promising you'd help me do it. This isn't about Ravka's welfare, and don't pretend otherwise. You've been lying to me since the moment I met you.”

His long fingers tightened around the glass. “Did you deserve my trust?” he asked, and for once, his voice was less than steady and cold. “Baghra whispers a few accusations in your ear, and off you go. Did you ever stop to think of what it would mean for me, for all of Ravka, if you just disappeared?”

I felt myself pale. He knew Baghra had told me. “What did you do to her?” I whispered.

“She's back in her hut at the Little Palace. She hid nothing from me.”

I was stunned to silence. 

“What did you think, Alina? That I'd kill my own mother?” His voice was mocking.

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened. 

“It wasn't a few accusations," I said. "And you know it. I argued with Baghra the entire time, I argued everything she said. I thought she was mad! And even once I knew she was telling the truth, when I had put the pieces together for myself, I left to find you because I told you I would trust you. Because I wanted her to be wrong. Because I. . . .” I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists against a swell of emotion. _Because I cared about you. _Foolish. “Because I was a stupid girl, just like she always said I was. In the end, I heard for myself what you wanted to do with me. It was you who didn't deserve my trust.”__

“It isn't that simple, Alina. If you had come to me, I would have explained.”

“What is there to explain about this?” I yelled at him, gripping the collar between two fingers. “It's pretty straightforward! Sure you would have explained. And then when I didn't eat it out of your hands, you would have locked me up anyway, and we'd be right back here.”

“I told you,” he said wearily. “I didn't intend to use it.”

“Just so long as you always knew you could. If I argued with you. Disagreed. Stepped too far out of line. What about that says 'free and not a slave' in your twisted mind?”

“You had a choice,” he said. “And you chose to turn your back on your country, on everything that you are.”

“That isn't fair.”

“Fairness isn't one of my specialties, Alina. And what does it have to do with any of this? The people curse my name and pray for you, but you're the one who was ready to abandon them-”

“I wasn't abandoning anyone! I was going to come back when I'd found another way to close the Fold!”

“-and I'm the one who will give them power over their enemies. I'm the one who will free them from the tyranny of the King.”

“Maybe they curse your name because you're a ruthless tyrant!”

“Someone has to lead, Alina. Someone has to end this. Believe me, I wish there were another way.”

He sounded so sincere, so reasonable, less a creature of relentless ambition than a man who believed he was doing the right thing for his people. Despite all he’d done and all he intended, I almost believed him.

I laughed harshly. “Do you actually buy what you're saying? Or have you just been telling the lie so long that you're starting to believe it?”

“I'm doing what's best for our people.”

“What if there was another way, then?” I asked.

“There isn't.”

 _”What if there was?”_ I repeated, and I knew I sounded desperate. My voice shook.

He studied me. “If I thought it would work, I would consider it. But I've seen too much war and death in my life to leave it to chance. I've seen too many incompetent monarchs and corrupt leaders. And it's the people who always suffer for it. Families die in war, the people starve.” He looked at me. “Children are left without parents. And I've spent too long preparing for this. For you.”

“For this,” I said, raising my hand and summoning a glow to it. “Just like I said that night in the barn. Don't pretend you confuse the two.”

“I assure you, I don't.”

I looked at him a long moment, then sighed and closed my eyes. I sat down on the chair and let my head fall into my hands.

He left me that way for several long moments. Then he set his empty glass down and stood. “Come here.”

Fear shot through me, but slowly, I made myself rise and close the distance between us. He studied me in the firelight. He reached out and touched Morozova’s collar, letting his long fingers spread over the rough bone, then slide up my neck to cradle my face with one hand. I felt a jolt of revulsion, but I also felt the sure, intoxicating force of him. Without my permission, my eyes slid closed, even as I hated and loathed that it still had an effect on me.

“You betrayed me,” he said softly.

I laughed bitterly and looked into his eyes. “I didn't betray you,” I said. “I ended your game. You did nothing but lie to me. You asked me to trust you when you didn't trust me. When you never intended to. You asked me to _go to bed with you_ when you knew I had no idea who you really were. That I betrayed you is laughable. All I did was save myself. _From_ you.”

“. . .What if I told you it wasn't all a lie, Alina?”

Something in my chest clenched painfully. I tried to turn away, but his grip tightened. “I wouldn't believe you.”

“Are you sorry for any of it?” He asked, his voice sharpening. “Or do you have a single thought for anything but the boy and his miserable life?”

I said nothing, only stared at him, reproach and sadness on my face.

“Tell me,” he said, his grip tightening painfully, his fingertips pressing into my flesh. In the firelight, his gaze looked unfathomably bleak. “Tell me how much you love him. Beg for his life.”

“No.”

His grip tightened. _“Beg.”_

And suddenly, I understood. I had affected him tonight. How much of it was the kvas I didn't know, but I had so unseated his plans that he would flex even this small amount of power over me just to know that he could. To know that I was still under his thumb. If I wouldn't dance the way he wanted, then he would force me to march, instead.

I still knew that nothing I could say would save Mal if the Darkling wanted him dead. But there was something about the desolation in his eyes that made me want to do anything but push him further.

“Please,” I whispered, fighting the sudden tears that welled in my eyes. “Let him go.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about him. Because. . . . Because the collar can't give you what you want,” I said recklessly. “It may give you my power, but that's all it can give you. I know that now. Mal is the reason I'm alive. He's saved my life before and after I met you. I grew up with him. If there is anything good in me, anything worth wanting, it comes from him. I need to know he's out there in the world somewhere, living his life, even if I never see him again.” Something in my chest splintered at the thought, and at the knowledge that I would do it if it meant he could go on living.

“If you hurt him, if you kill him, I will never forgive you. I will fight you every chance I get, I will spend every waking moment looking for a way to end my life, and we both know that eventually, I'll succeed. But show him mercy, let him live, and I will be yours.” A hunger I couldn't understand flashed over his face, and I knew then that Baghra had been wrong about at least one thing: there was something he hadn't been faking with me, hadn't been lying about, at least not entirely. _What if I told you it wasn't all a lie, Alina?_

“I will work with you," I went on. "I'll try to see your side of things. I'll let you teach me. I'll spend the rest of my long life, at your side if that's what you want, showing you my gratitude.” I nearly choked on the last word. Tentatively, I reached a hand up and trailed my fingertips along his jaw.

He cocked his head to one side, a small, skeptical smile playing about his lips. Then the smile disappeared, replaced by something I didn’t recognize, something that looked almost like longing.

“Mercy.” He said the word as if he were tasting something unfamiliar. “I could be merciful.” He raised his other hand to cup my face and kissed me softly, gently, and though something in me rebelled, reviled, I let him. I hated him. I feared him. But still I felt the strange tug of his power, and I couldn't stop the hungry response of my own treacherous heart.

He pulled away and looked at me. Then, his eyes still locked on mine, he called for Ivan.

“Take her to the cells,” the Darkling said when Ivan appeared in the doorway of the tent. “Let her see her tracker.”

I felt my face slip into a look of confusion and a sliver of hope entered my heart.

“Yes, Alina,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I can be merciful.” He leaned forward, pulling me close, his lips brushing my ear. “Tomorrow, we enter the Shadow Fold,” he whispered, his voice like a caress. “And when we do, I will feed your friend to the volcra, and you will watch him die.”

All the air went out of me and I staggered backwards in horror, but his grip was like steel, his fingers digging into my skull. “No! You. . . _why?”_ I cried and pushed against him.

“You may say your goodbyes tonight. That is all the mercy traitors deserve.”

“I would be dead if it weren't for him! There would be no Sun Summoner!”

“Take her.”

Something broke loose inside me. I lunged at him, but Ivan was on me instantly, holding me tight as I thrashed and strained in his arms. I tried to use my power, but he had my hands pinned.

“Don't do this! Please!”

“Your tracker is going to die tomorrow, Alina. You can accept my kindness and see him, or Ivan can take you back to your room and you can sleep under guard. The choice is yours.”

“Monster!” I spat. “Murderer!”

He shrugged. “All of those things. Hate me if you like, but you’ll tire of it soon enough. You’ll tire of everything.” He smiled then, and behind his eyes I saw the same bleak and yawning chasm I had seen in Baghra’s ancient gaze. “You will wear that collar for the rest of your very, very long life, Alina. Fight me as long as you’re able. You will find I have far more practice with eternity.”

He waved his hand dismissively, and Ivan pulled me from the tent and down the path, still struggling. A sound tore loose from my throat, somewhere between a growl and a sob, a thing of desperation and anger and sorrow. The tears I had fought to hold back during my conversation with the Darkling gave way and streamed unchecked down my cheeks.

“Stop that,” Ivan whispered furiously. “Someone will see you.”

“Ask me if I care right now,” I spat.

The Darkling was going to kill Mal. What difference did it make who saw my misery now? The reality of Mal’s death and the Darkling’s cruelty were staring me in the face, and I saw the stark and horrible shape of things to come.

Ivan yanked me into my tent and gave me a rough shake. “Do you want to see the tracker or not? I’m not going to march a weeping girl through camp.”

I yanked my arm free and punched him in the face.

While he stumbled in surprise, straightened, and turned red with anger, I pressed my hands against my eyes to stifle my sobs.

“Try something like that again,” he growled “and he'll be glad to die by the time we enter the Fold tomorrow.”

“Don't be such a bastard and I won't need to,” I spat. “What if it was one of your brothers down there? Because that man is the only family or home I have ever had, and in a few hours the Darkling is going to have him eaten by monsters right in front of me. And we both know it's not because he deserted,” I finished in a hiss.

He looked away. “Put this on.” He tossed me a long brown cloak. I slipped it over my kefta, and he yanked the large hood up. “Keep your head down and stay quiet, or I I'll drag you right back here and you can say your goodbyes on the Fold. Understand?”

I nodded.

We followed an unlit path that skirted the perimeter of the camp. My guards kept their distance, walking far ahead and far behind us, and I quickly realized that Ivan did not want anyone to recognize me or to know I was visiting the jail.

As we walked between the barracks and tents, I could sense a strange tension crackling through the camp. The soldiers we passed seemed jumpy, and a few glared at Ivan with blatant hostility. I wondered how the First Army felt about the Apparat’s sudden rise to power.

The jail was located on the far side of camp. It was an older building, clearly from a time predating the barracks that surrounded it. Bored guards flanked the entrance.

“New prisoner?” one of them asked Ivan.

“A visitor.”

“Since when do you escort visitors to the cells?”

“Since tonight,” Ivan said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

The guards exchanged a nervous glance and stepped aside. “No need to get antsy, bloodletter.”

Ivan led me down a hallway lined with mostly empty cells. I saw a few ragged men, a drunk snoring soundly on the floor of his cell. At the end of the hall, Ivan unlocked a gate, and we descended a set of rickety stairs to a dark, windowless room lit by a single guttering lamp. In the gloom, I could make out the heavy iron bars of the room’s only cell and, sitting slumped by its far wall, its only prisoner.

“Mal,” I breathed.

In seconds, he was on his feet and we were clinging to each other through the iron bars, our hands clasped tightly together. I couldn’t stop the sobs that shook me.

“Shhhh. It’s okay. Alina, it’s okay.”

“You have the night,” said Ivan, and disappeared back up the stairs. When we heard the outer gate clang shut, Mal turned to me.

His eyes roved over my face. “I can’t believe he let you come.”

Fresh tears spilled over my cheeks. “He only did because. . . .”

“When?” he asked hoarsely.

“Tomorrow. On the Fold.”

He swallowed, and I could see him struggle with the knowledge, but all he said was, “All right.”

I let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “Only you could contemplate imminent death and just say ‘all right.’”

He smiled at me and pushed the hair back from my tear-stained face. “How about ‘oh no’?”

“I'm so sorry, Mal. If I'd been stronger. . . .”

He huffed a laugh. “You were, Alina. If _I’d_ been stronger, I would have driven a knife through your heart.”

“There's the best friend I know and love,” I said miserably. Then I muttered, “I wish you had.”

“Well, I don’t.”

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to be here to see me bring about the end of the world." I looked down at our clasped hands. “Mal, what the Darkling said in the glade about. . .what I told you about how we almost. . . . It wasn't even almost,” I finished angrily. “Saints, I did more at Poliznaya when we were teenagers.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I looked up at him. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” he said a little too fiercely.

“. . .I don’t think I believe you.”

“So maybe I don’t believe it yet either, not completely, but it’s the truth.” He clutched my hands more tightly, holding them close to his heart. “I don’t care if you danced naked on the roof of the Little Palace with him. I love you, Alina, even the part of you that loved him.”

I wanted to deny it, to erase it, but I couldn’t. Another sob shook me. “I hate that I ever thought. . .that I ever—”

“Do you blame me for every mistake I made? For every girl I tumbled? For every dumb thing I’ve said? Because if we start running tallies on stupid, you know who’s going to come out ahead.”

“I don’t blame you.” I managed a small smile. “Much. Usually.”

He grinned and my heart flip-flopped the way it always had.

“We found our way back to each other, Alina. That’s all that matters.”

“That's not all that matters,” I whispered miserably.

He leaned forward and kissed me through the bars, the cold iron pressing against my cheek as his lips met mine.

We stayed together that last night. We talked about the orphanage, the angry rasp of Ana Kuya’s voice, the taste of stolen cherry cordial, the smell of the new-mown grass in our meadow, how we’d suffered in the heat of summer and sought out the cool comfort of the music room’s marble floors, the journey we’d made together on the way to do our military service, the Suli violins we’d heard our first night away from the only home either of us could remember.

I told him I'd gotten to hit Ivan. He made me describe it to him three times.

I told him the story of the day I’d been mending pottery with one of the maids in the kitchen at Keramzin, waiting for him to return from one of the hunting trips that had taken him from home more and more frequently. I’d been fifteen, standing at the counter, vainly trying to glue together the jagged pieces of a blue cup, wanting nothing more than to smash the longer I worked. When I saw him crossing the fields, I ran to the doorway and waved. He caught sight of me and broke into a jog.

I had crossed the yard to him slowly, watching him draw closer, baffled by the way my heart was skittering around in my chest. Then he’d picked me up and spun me in a circle, and I’d clung to him, breathing in his sweet, familiar smell, shocked by how much I’d missed him. Dimly, I’d been aware that I still had a shard of the blue cup in my hand, that it was digging into my palm, but I didn’t want to let go.

When he finally set me down and ambled off to the kitchen to find his lunch, I had stood there, my palm dripping blood, my head still spinning, knowing that everything had just changed.

Ana Kuya had scolded me for getting blood on the clean kitchen floor. She’d bandaged my hand and told me it would heal. But I knew it would just go on hurting.

In the creaking silence of the cell, Mal kissed the scar on my palm, the wound made so long ago by the edge of that broken cup, a fragile thing I’d thought beyond repair, remembering all times he'd seen me stroke it absently.

We fell asleep on the floor, cheeks pressed together through the bars and hands clasped tight. I hadn't wanted to fall sleep. I wanted to savor every last moment with him. But I must have dozed off because I dreamed again of the stag. This time, Mal was beside me in the glade, and it was his blood in the snow.

The next thing I knew, I was waking to the sound of the gate being opened above us and Ivan’s footsteps on the stairs.

Mal had made me promise not to cry. He’d said it would only make it harder on him. So I swallowed my tears. I kissed him one last time, promised “if I have enough control, I'll make it quick,” quiet enough that only he could hear, and let Ivan lead me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic spoilers in the comments. Nothing majorly major.


	23. Mercy, Hers

Dawn was creeping over Kribirsk as Ivan brought me back to my tent. I sat down on my cot and stared unseeingly at the room. My limbs felt strangely heavy, my mind a blank. I was still sitting there when Genya arrived.

She brought water to wash my face and helped me change into the black kefta I'd worn to the winter fete. I looked down at the silk and wanted to tear it to shreds. My hands stayed limp at my sides.

Genya tried to steer me into the painted chair.

“What are you doing?” I asked. My voice was nearly raw.

“Your hair.”

"No you're not.”

“Alina, please-”

“Get out,” I barked.

She pursed her lips and looked like she wanted to argue, but her eyes were sad.

“Get out, Genya,” I repeated. “I'll do my own hair.”

“Starkov,” Ivan called wearily from outside the tent, then opened the flap so he could look me in the eye. “Do I really have to remind you of the tracker every time you don't like something, or can you just save everyone the time and do as you're told?”

I considered arguing just to piss him off. But he was right – Mal may be slated to die today, but there were still ways they could hurt him. I stared at the big man, my face hard. Then, a thought occurred to me and very slowly, I felt my lips curl into a smile.

Confusion flitted across Ivan's features.

If any good could come of all of this, any one, tiny thing, it would be that soon, I would be living in a world where there was nothing the Heartrender could hold over me. There would be nothing to stop me from pummeling the man into the dirt as often as I liked. Or trying, at least. I didn't care which. Let him try to stop me, let him fight back – that would only make it all the more satisfying. The Darkling would never let him hurt me too badly.

Still staring at him, grinning like a lunatic, I sat serenely in the chair.

After a moment, Ivan let the tent flap fall back into place.

I sat still as Genya arranged my hair, piling it onto my head in loops and coils that she secured with golden pins, the better to show off Morozova’s collar. As she did, the reality of everything that was about to happen settled over me like a weight, so heavy that it crushed everything else until I felt like my bones and heart and lungs had been removed.

When she had finished, she pressed her cheek against mine and led me to Ivan, placing my hand on his arm like a bride. I removed it the moment she left. Not a word had passed between us.

Ivan led me to the Grisha tent, where I took my place by the Darkling’s side. I knew that my friends were watching me, whispering, wondering what was wrong. They probably thought I was frozen, nervous about entering the Fold. They were wrong. I wasn’t nervous or frightened. I wasn’t anything anymore.

The Grisha followed us in an ordered processional all the way to the drydocks. There, only a select few were permitted to board the sandskiff. It was larger than any I’d seen and equipped with three enormous sails emblazoned with the Darkling’s symbol. I surreptitiously scanned the crowd of soldiers and Grisha on the skiff. I knew Mal must be on board somewhere, but I couldn’t see him.

The Darkling and I were escorted to the front of the skiff, where I was introduced to a group of elaborately dressed men with blond beards and piercing blue eyes. Confused, I realized they were Fjerdan ambassadors. Beside them, in crimson silks, stood a delegation from the Shu Han, and next to them, a group of Kerch tradesmen in shortcoats with curiously belled sleeves. An envoy of the King stood with them in full military dress, his pale blue sash bearing a golden double eagle, a stern expression on his weathered countenance.

I studied them curiously. This must be why the Darkling had delayed our trip into the Fold. He’d needed time to assemble the proper audience, witnesses who would attest to his newfound power. But just how far did he intend to go? A feeling of foreboding stirred inside me, disturbing the lovely numbness that had held me in its grip most of the morning.

The skiff shuddered and began to slide over the grass and into the eerie black mist of the Fold. Three Summoners raised their arms and the great sails snapped forward, swelling with wind.

The first time I’d entered the Fold, I’d feared the darkness and my own death. Now, darkness was nothing to me, and I knew that soon death would seem like a gift. I’d always known I would have to return to the Unsea, but as I looked back, I realized that some part of me had anticipated it. I had welcomed the chance to prove myself and—I cringed when I thought of it—to please the Darkling. When I'd thought he was worth pleasing. I had dreamed of this moment, standing by his side. I had wanted to believe in the destiny he’d laid out for me, that the lost orphan would change the world, and find her place in doing so.

The Darkling stared ahead, radiating confidence and ease. The sun flickered and began to disappear from view. A moment later, we were in darkness.

For a long while, we drifted in the black, the Grisha Squallers driving the skiffs forward over the sand.

Then, the Darkling’s voice rang out. “Burn.”

Huge clouds of flame burst from the Inferni on either side of the skiff, briefly illuminating the night sky. The ambassadors and even the guards around me stirred nervously. The Darkling was announcing our location, calling the volcra directly to us.

It didn’t take long for them to answer, and a small tremor ran up my spine as I heard the distant beat of leathery wings. I felt fear spread through the passengers on the skiff and heard the Fjerdans begin to pray in their lilting tongue. In the flare of Grisha fire, I saw the dim shapes of dark bodies flying toward us. The volcras’ shrieks split the air.

The guards reached for their rifles. Someone began to weep. But still the Darkling waited as the volcra drew closer.

Baghra had claimed that the volcra had once been men and women, victims of the unnatural power unleashed by the Darkling’s greed. It might have been my mind playing tricks, but I thought I heard something not just horrible, but human in their cries.

When they were almost upon us, the Darkling gripped my arm and simply said, “Now.”

That invisible hand took hold of the power inside me, and I felt it stretch, reaching through the darkness of the Fold, seeking the light. It came to me with a speed and fury that nearly knocked the breath from me, breaking over me in a shower of brilliance and warmth.

The Fold was alight, as bright as noon, as if its impenetrable darkness had never been. I saw a long reach of blanched sand, hulks of what looked like shipwrecks dotting the dead landscape, and above it all, a teeming flock of volcra. They screamed in terror and agony, their writhing gray bodies gruesome in the bright sunlight. _This is the truth of him,_ I thought as I squinted in the dazzling light. Like calls to like. This was his soul made flesh, laid bare in the blazing sun, shorn of mystery and shadow. This was the truth behind the handsome face and the miraculous powers, the truth that was the dead and empty space between the stars, a wasteland peopled by frightened monsters.

 _Make a path._ I wasn’t sure if he spoke or simply thought the command, so powerfully did it reverberate through me. Helpless, I let the Fold close in around us as I focused the light, making a massive channel through which the skiff could pass, bordered on both sides by walls of rippling darkness. The volcra fled into the dark, and I could hear them crying in rage and confusion as if from behind an impenetrable curtain.

We sped over the colorless sands, the sunlight spreading in glimmering waves before us. Far ahead, I saw a flash of green, and I realized I was seeing the other side of the Shadow Fold. We were looking into West Ravka, and as we drew closer, I saw their meadow, their drydocks, the village of Novokribirsk nestled behind it. The towers of Os Kervo gleamed in the distance. Was it my imagination, or could I smell the salt tang of the True Sea on the air?

People were streaming from the village and crowding onto the drydocks, pointing at the light that had split the Fold open before them. I saw children playing in the grass. I could hear the dockworkers calling to each other.

At a signal from the Darkling, the skiff slowed, and he lifted his arms. I felt a spike of horror as I understood what was about to happen.

“No,” I whispered hoarsely. “No! They’re your own people!” I cried.

He ignored me as he brought his hands together with a sound like a clap of thunder.

It all seemed to happen slowly. Darkness rippled out from his hands. I struggled in vain to free my light, to shatter it. When his shadow met the darkness of the Fold, a rumbling sound rose up out of the dead sands. The black walls of the path I’d created pulsed and swelled. _It’s like it’s breathing,_ I thought in terror.

The rumble grew to a roar. The Fold shook and trembled around us and then burst forward in a terrible cascading tide.

A frightened wail went up from the crowd on the docks as darkness rushed toward them. They ran, and I saw their fear, heard their screams as the black fabric of the Fold crashed over the drydocks and the village like a breaking wave. Darkness enveloped them, and the volcra set upon their new prey. A woman carrying a little boy stumbled, trying to outrun the grasping dark, but it swallowed her, too.

I reached inside of myself desperately, trying to expand the light, to drive the volcra off, to offer some kind of protection. But I could do nothing. My power slid away from me, pulled by that invisible hand. I wished for a knife to drive into the Darkling’s heart, into my own heart, anything that would make this stop.

The Darkling turned to look at the ambassadors and the King’s envoy. Their faces were identical masks of horror and shock. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him, because he separated his hands and the darkness stopped pushing forward. The rumbling faded.

I could hear the anguished cries of those lost in the dark, the shrieks of the volcra, the sounds of rifle fire. The drydocks were gone. The village of Novokribirsk was gone. We were staring into the new reaches of the Fold.

The message was clear: Today it had been West Ravka. Tomorrow, the Darkling could just as easily push the Fold north to Fjerda or south to the Shu Han. It would devour whole countries and drive the Darkling’s enemies into the sea, and he would not hesitate to sacrifice anything to do so. How many deaths had I just helped to bring about? How many more would I be responsible for?

 _Close the path,_ commanded the Darkling. I had no choice but to obey. I pulled the light back until it rested around the skiff like a glowing dome.

“What have you done?” whispered the envoy, his voice shaking.

The Darkling turned on him. “Do you need to see more?”

“You were meant to undo this abomination, not enlarge it! You’ve slaughtered Ravkans! The King will never stand—”

“The King will do as he’s told, or I’ll march the Shadow Fold to the walls of Os Alta itself.”

The envoy sputtered, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. The Darkling turned to the ambassadors. “I think you understand me now. There are no Ravkans, no Fjerdans, no Kerch, no Shu Han. There are no more borders, and there will be no more wars. From now on, there is only the land inside the Fold and outside of it, and there will be peace.”

“Peace on your terms,” said one of the Shu Han angrily.

“It will not stand,” barked a Fjerdan.

The Darkling looked them over and said very calmly, “Peace on my terms. Or your precious mountains and your saintsforsaken tundra will simply cease to exist.”

With crushing certainty, I understood that he meant every word. The ambassadors might hope it was an empty threat, believe that there were limits to his hunger, but they would learn soon enough. The Darkling would not hesitate. He would not grieve. His darkness would consume the world, and he would never waver.

“He means it,” I whispered, willing them to believe me. Their eyes turned to me, masks of horror, outrage, anger, and accusation. I couldn't blame them.

The Darkling turned his back on them and addressed the Grisha and soldiers on the skiff. “Tell the story of what you’ve seen today. Tell everyone that the days of fear and uncertainty are over. The days of endless fighting are over. Tell them that you saw a new age begin.”

A cheer went up from the crowd. I saw a few soldiers muttering to each other. Even some of the Grisha looked unnerved. But most of their faces were eager, triumphant, shining.

 _They’re hungry for this,_ I realized. Even after they’ve seen what he can do, even after watching their own people die. The Darkling wasn’t just offering them an end to war, but an end to weakness. After all these long years of terror and suffering, he would give them something that had seemed permanently beyond their grasp: victory. And despite their fear, they already loved him for it.

The Darkling signaled to Ivan, who stood behind him, waiting for orders. “Bring me the prisoner.”

I looked up sharply, a fresh bolt of fear shooting through me as Mal was led through the crowd to the railing, his hands bound.

“We return to Ravka,” said the Darkling. “But the traitor stays.”

Before I even knew what was happening, Ivan shoved Mal over the edge of the skiff. The volcra screeched and beat their wings. I lunged for the railing, but Ivan grabbed me before I could get there and jump after Mal. He was on his side in the sand, still within the protective circle of my light. He spat sand from his mouth and pushed himself up with his bound hands.

I wrenched myself from Ivan's grip and, without thinking, turned on him and punched him hard in the jaw. He stumbled back against the railing, stunned, and then lunged at me. He would not let me get away with that a second time. _Good,_ I thought as he grabbed me. _Throw me over, too._

“Hold,” said the Darkling, his voice like ice. Ivan scowled, his face red with embarrassment and anger. He relaxed his grip but didn’t let go.

I could see the confusion of the people on the skiff. They didn’t know what this show was about, why the Darkling was troubling with a deserter or why his most valued Grisha had just punched his second-in-command.

 _Pull it back._ The command rang through me and I looked at the Darkling in horror.

“No,” I said hoarsely. But I couldn’t stop it; the dome of light began to contract. Mal looked at me as the circle shrank closer to the skiff, and if Ivan hadn’t had hold of me, the look of regret and love in his blue eyes would have sent me to my knees. I fought with everything inside me, every bit of strength I had, everything Baghra had taught me, and it was nothing in the face of the Darkling’s power over me. The light inched closer to the skiff. “Please!” I begged. I turned my face to the Darkling. “Don't make me do this! Please!” His face remained blank and impassive.

I gripped the railing and cried out in rage, in misery, tears streaming down my cheeks. Mal was standing at the edge of the gleaming circle now. I could see the shapes of the volcra in the swirling dark, feel the beat of their wings. He could have run, could have wept, could have clung to the sides of the skiff until the darkness took him, but he did none of those things. He stood unflinching before the gathering dark.

I had the power to save him—and I was powerless to save him. In the next breath, the darkness swallowed him. I heard the beat of wings, and then I heard him scream. The memory of the stag reared up before me, so vivid that for a moment the snowy glade swam in my vision, the image of it transposed over the barren landscape of the Fold. I smelled the pines, felt the chill air on my cheeks. I remembered the stag’s dark, liquid eyes, the plume of his breath in the cold night, the moment when I knew that I would not take his life. And finally, I understood why the stag had come to me every night in my dreams.

I’d thought he was haunting me, a reminder of my failure and the price my weakness would exact. But I was wrong.

The stag had been showing me my strength—not just the price of mercy but the power it bestowed. And mercy was something the Darkling would never understand.

I had spared the stag’s life. The power of that life belonged to me as surely as it belonged to the man who had taken it.

I gasped as understanding flooded through me, and I felt that invisible grip falter. My power slid back into my hands. Once more, I stood in Baghra’s hut, calling the fullness of my light for the first time, feeling it rush toward me, taking possession of what was rightfully mine. This was what I had been born for.

I would never let anyone separate me from it again.

Light exploded from me, pure and unwavering, flooding over the Fold in every direction until it passed the dark place where Mal had stood only moments before. Calm like I had never felt flooded me, and a certainty I had only known when touched by a Grisha amplifier. The stag and its power, now under my control, were truly and finally mine, and I knew that with it, nothing could stand against me. Baghra had said I would be the most powerful Grisha who ever lived. In that moment, I knew she had been right.

The volcra that had hold of Mal shrieked and released its grip when my light crashed over it like a wave. Mal fell feet to the ground onto his knees, blood streaming from his wounds as my light enveloped him and drove the volcra back into the darkness.

The Darkling looked momentarily confused. He narrowed his eyes, and I felt his will descend on me again, felt that invisible hand grasping. I brushed it away. It was nothing. He was nothing.

“What is this?” he hissed. He raised his hands and skeins of darkness spooled toward me, but with a flick of my hand, they burned away like mist.

“Power,” I replied. “Power you will never understand.”

The Darkling advanced on me, his handsome features contorted with fury. I knew he would have liked to kill me where I stood, but he couldn’t, not with the volcra circling outside the light that only I could provide.

“Seize her!” he shouted to the guards surrounding us. Ivan reached out.

I felt the weight of the collar around my neck, the steady rhythm of the stag’s ancient heart beating in time with mine. My power rose up in me, solid and without hesitation, a sword in my hand.

I lifted my arm and slashed. With an ear-splitting crack, one of the skiff ’s masts split in two. People bleated in panic and scattered as the broken mast fell to the deck, the thick wood gleaming with burning light. Shock registered on the Darkling’s face.

“The Cut!” Ivan gasped, taking a step backward.

“Yes,” I replied calmly. Then, my voice going hard, “Now stay back.”

“You aren’t a murderer, Alina,” said the Darkling.

“I think the Ravkans whose deaths I just made possible would disagree. That would leave your opinion rather outnumbered.”

Panic was spreading through the skiff. The oprichniki looked wary, but they were fanning out to surround me just the same. I didn't care. I could see the light in them. I could call it to life any moment and turn them to ash with a flick of my wrist.

“You saw what he did to those people,” I called to the guards and Grisha around me, my eyes locked on the Darkling's. “Is that the future you want? A world held by darkness? By a monster?” A world remade in his image?” I looked around and saw their confusion, their anger and fear. “He thought he could control me just as he believes he can control you. Don't let him!” I barked. “Help me!”

But no one moved. Soldier and Grisha alike stood frozen on the deck. They were all too afraid, afraid of him and afraid of a world without his protection. Afraid of me, who they knew nothing about.

The oprichniki inched closer. I had to make a choice.

 _So be it,_ I thought.

I glanced over my shoulder, and then I dove for the side of the skiff.

“Don’t let her reach the railing!” the Darkling shouted.

The guards surged toward me. And I let the light go out.

We were plunged into darkness. People wailed and, above us, I heard the volcra screeching. My outstretched hands struck the railing. I ducked under it and hurled myself onto the sand, rolling to my feet and running blindly toward Mal as I pushed the light ahead of me in an arc.

Behind me, I heard the sounds of slaughter on the skiff as the volcra attacked and clouds of Grisha flame exploded in the darkness. I knew I would be sick from it later, but couldn't stop now to think of the people I'd left behind to die.

My arc of light flashed over Mal, crouched in the sand. The volcra looming over him screeched and whirled away into the dark. I sprinted toward him and pulled him to his feet.

A bullet pinged against the sand beside us and I plunged us into darkness again.

“Hold your fire!” I heard the Darkling shouting over the chaos on the skiff. “We need her alive!”

I threw out another arc of light, scattering the volcra that were hovering around us.

“You can’t run from me, Alina!” the Darkling shouted.

 _Watch me,_ I thought fiercely.

I couldn’t let him come after us. I couldn’t take the chance that he might survive. But I hated what I had to do to stop it from happening. The others on the skiff had failed to come to my aid, yes, but they didn't deserve to die. They didn't deserve to be abandoned to the volcra. Given time to think, they might have seen reason. Now I would never know.

“You can’t leave us all here to die, Alina!” the Darkling shouted. “If you take this step, you know where it will lead.”

I felt a hysterical laugh burble up inside me. I knew. I knew it would make me more like him.

“You begged me for clemency once,” he called over the dead reaches of the Fold, over the hungry shrieks of the horrors he had made. “Is this your idea of mercy?”

Another bullet hit the sand, only inches from us. “This is the mercy you taught me!” I yelled as the power rose up inside me.

I raised my hand and brought it down in a blazing arc, slashing through the air. Sand was left red in its wake. An earth-shaking crack echoed through the Fold as the sandskiff split in half. Raw screams filled the air and the volcra shrieked in their frenzy.

I grabbed Mal’s arm and threw a dome of light around us. We ran, stumbling into the darkness, and soon the sounds of battle faded as we left the monsters behind.

 

* * * * *

 

We emerged from the Fold somewhere south of Novokribirsk and took our first steps in West Ravka. The afternoon sun was bright, the meadow grass green and sweet, but we didn’t stop to savor any of it. We were tired, hungry, and wounded, but our enemies wouldn’t rest, and neither could we.

We walked until we found cover in an orchard and hid there until dark, afraid of being spotted and remembered. The air was thick with the smell of apple blossoms, but the fruit was far too small and green to eat.

There was a bucket full of fetid rainwater sitting beneath our tree, and we used it to wash the worst stains from Mal’s bloodied shirt. He tried not to wince as he pulled the torn fabric over his head, but there was no disguising the deep wounds the volcra’s claws had left across the smooth skin of his shoulder and back.

When night came, we began our trek to the coast. Briefly, I’d worried that we might be lost. But even in this unfamiliar country, Mal found the way.

Shortly before dawn, we crested a hill and saw the broad sweep of Alkhem Bay and the glittering lights of Os Kervo below us. We knew we should get off the road. It would soon be bustling with tradesmen and travelers who were sure to notice a cut-up tracker and a girl in a black kefta. But we couldn’t resist our first glimpse of the True Sea.

The sun rose at our backs, pink light gleaming off the city’s slender towers then splintering gold on the waters of the bay. I saw the sprawl of the port, the great ships bobbing in the harbor, and beyond that blue, and blue, and blue again. The sea seemed to go on forever, stretching into an impossibly distant horizon. I had seen plenty of maps. I knew there was land out there somewhere, beyond long weeks of travel and miles of ocean. But I still had the dizzying sense that we were standing at the edge of the world. A breeze came in off the water, carrying the smell of salt and damp, the faint cries of gulls.

“There’s just so much of it,” I said at last.

Mal nodded. Then he turned to me and smiled. “A good place to hide.”

He reached out and slid fingers into my hair. He pulled one of the gold pins from the tangled waves. I felt a curl slide free and slither down my neck.

“For clothes,” he said as he dropped the pin into his pocket.

A day ago, Genya had placed those golden pins in my hair. I would never see her again, never see any of them, if the Saints were kind. My heart twisted. I didn’t know if Genya had ever really been my friend, but I would miss her just the same.

Mal left me waiting a little way off the road, hidden in a stand of trees. We’d agreed it would be safer for him to enter Os Kervo by himself, but it was hard to watch him go. He’d told me to rest, but once he was gone, I couldn’t seem to find sleep. I could still feel power thrumming through my body, the echo of what I’d done on the Fold. My hand strayed to the collar at my neck. I’d never felt anything like it, and some part of me wanted to feel it again.

 _And what about the people you left there?_ said a voice in my head that I desperately wanted to ignore. Ambassadors, soldiers, Grisha. I had as good as killed them all, and I couldn’t even be sure that the Darkling was dead. Had he been torn apart by volcra? Had the lost men and women of the Tula Valley finally had their revenge on the Black Heretic? Or was he, at this very moment, hurtling toward me over the dead reaches of the Unsea, ready to bring down his own kind of reckoning?

I shuddered and paced, flinching at every sound, every shadow across my web, which stretched farther and stronger than I ever could have dreamed.

By late afternoon, I was convinced that Mal had been identified and captured. When I heard footsteps and saw his familiar form emerge through the trees, I nearly sobbed with relief.

“Any trouble?” I asked shakily, trying to hide my nerves.

“None,” he said. “I’ve never seen a city so crowded with people. No one even gave me a second glance.”

He wore a new shirt and an ill-fitting coat, and his arms were laden with clothes for me: a sacklike dress in a red so faded it looked almost orange and a nubbly mustard-colored coat. He handed them to me and then turned his back so that I could change.

I fumbled with the tiny black buttons of the kefta. There seemed to be a thousand of them. I grew impatient, nearly frantic to get it off, and began ripping at the fabric. Mal's hands rested over top mine, stilling them. We stayed like that until some calm returned to me, and he turned back around, a hint of red coloring his cheeks. When the silk finally slid over my shoulders and pooled at my feet, I felt a great burden lift from me. The cool spring air pricked my bare skin and, for the first time, I dared to hope that we might really be free. I quashed that thought. Until I knew the Darkling was dead, I would never draw an easy breath.

I pulled on the rough wool dress and the yellow coat.

“Did you deliberately buy the ugliest clothes you could find?”

Mal turned to look at me and couldn’t restrain a smile. “I bought the _first_ clothes I could find,” he said. Then his grin faded. He touched my cheek lightly, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and raw. “I never want to see you in black again.”

I held his gaze. “Neither do I.” I said quietly.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a long red scarf. Gently, he wrapped it around my neck, hiding Morozova’s collar. “There,” he said, smiling again. “Perfect.”

“What am I going to do when summer comes?” I laughed.

“By then we’ll have found a way to get rid of it.”

“No!” I said sharply, surprised by my strong reaction. Mal recoiled, taken aback. I took a moment, caught off-balance by how strongly I felt about it. “We can’t,” I explained. “It’s Ravka’s only chance to be free of the Shadow Fold.”

It was the truth—just not all of it. We did need the collar. It was insurance against the Darkling’s strength and a promise that someday we’d return to Ravka and find a way to set things right. But what I couldn’t tell Mal was that the collar belonged to me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to let it go.

Mal studied me, his brow furrowed. I thought of the Darkling’s warnings, of the bleak look I’d seen in his eyes and in Baghra’s.

“Alina. . . .”

I tried for a reassuring smile. "I don't know how to explain it, Mal. It's like it's a part of me. You might as well ask me to saw off my leg.” His worry didn't ease, so I went on. “Look, I'll. . .we'll figure it out, ok? Once the Fold is destroyed.”

Seconds passed. “All right,” he said at last, but his expression was still wary. Then, he pushed the crumpled kefta with the toe of his boot. “What should we do with this?”

I looked down at the heap of tattered silk and felt anger and shame roll over me.

“Burn it,” I said. And we did.

As the flames consumed the silk, Mal slowly pulled the rest of the golden pins from my curls, one by one, until my hair tumbled around my shoulders. Gently, he pushed my hair aside and kissed my neck, right above the collar. When the tears came, he pulled me close and held me, until there was nothing left but ashes.


	24. After

The boy and the girl stand at the railing of the ship, a true ship that rolls and rocks on the heaving back of the True Sea.

“Goed morgen, fentomen!” a deckhand shouts to them as he passes by, his arms full of rope.

All the ship’s crew call them fentomen. It is the Kerch word for ghosts.

When the girl asks the quartermaster why, he laughs and says it’s because they are so pale and because of the way they stand silent at the ship’s railing, staring at the sea for hours, as if they’ve never seen water before. She smiles and does not tell him the truth: that they must keep their eyes on the horizon. They are watching for a ship with black sails.

Baghra’s Verloren was long gone, so they had hidden in the slums of Os Kervo until the boy could exchange the gold pins from her hair to book passage on another ship. The city buzzed with the horror of what had happened in Novokribirsk. Some blamed the Darkling. Others blamed the Shu Han or Fjerdans. A few even claimed it was the righteous work of angry Saints.

Rumors began to reach them of strange happenings in Ravka. They heard that the Apparat had disappeared, that foreign troops were massing on the borders, that the First and Second Armies were threatening to go to war with each other, that the Sun Summoner was dead. They waited to hear word of the Darkling’s death on the Fold, but it never came.

At night, the boy and the girl lie curled around each other in the belly of the ship. He holds her tight when she wakes from another nightmare, her teeth chattering, her ears ringing with the terrified screams of the men and women she left behind on the broken skiff, her limbs trembling with remembered power and loss of control.

“It’s all right,” he whispers in the darkness. “It’s all right.”

She wants to believe him, but she’s afraid to close her eyes.

The wind creaks in the sails. The ship sighs around them. They are alone again, as they were when they were young, hiding from the older children, from Ana Kuya’s temper, from the things that seemed to move and slither in the dark.

They are orphans again, with no true home but each other and whatever life they can make together on the other side of the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for you, Penelope. You won't see it until at least tomorrow, but I got it all finished and posted on Christmas. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tainted With Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610536) by [littleangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleangels/pseuds/littleangels)




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